LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf ..*/?^-<^"' 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



¥. 1, F^M0M1 f QIHS. 



Sale by Mrs, f\. Beaumont, Bookseile- 

Platte Citv, Mo, 



-Mr. l*:i.\toii liu-; ooiislitiited 1110 liis ay'L'ul, lose!!. I'or liiiu, liis boolc 
of f'oeiiis. Tlio volume consists of 4:51 P li^'i'' — '** hiiHlsimicly' bound, 
iiud is oHV-red a( tliolow price ol $1.2o. Fi)r tins su;ii. it will be scut 
postage paid, to tiislant purcaasers. Tlie people of Platte county , I 
doubt not, will l)e i)roud to encourage liouic talent, and anxious to 
possess, or to i)resenl as a lioliday gift, a bool< vvliicli is liigldy coni- 
niended by all who have read it. The verses are not only perfect in 
rythiTi and diction, but are pure and exalted in sentiment. They eom- 
nieud temperance, virtue and religion, and should be touud in every 
liouseliold. Advance sheets of portions of the work were sent to sev- 
eral of (he most competent critics of the N¥cst, and extracts from their 
commendations are here presented : 

M IRS. XEr^r^Y McAj^'ek, ot Louisville, Ivy., a daughter of (xencral 
flumplirey Marsluill, and one one of the most brilliai antl ornate 
l)oets and novelists of the dav, thus notices Mr. PmxIou's work : 

"VVlien the soft and ryllimic beaiUy of Mr. Paxton's poems, and the purity and 
grace of their sentiments are contrasted witli the sensuous jingle that passes for 
poetry in the excl):ingesot the day, one will realize that love and constancy — no- 
bility and elevation of theme and sentiment, are not all .subjected to the vitiated 
tastes of the times. ***** In Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land, one follows 
hira, not unwillingly, into a realm of wonder ami delijjht, peopled with nymphs, 
peris and mermaids — the creation of his own exul)erant fan;y. No vision of the 
Orient exceeds the beauty of'his pictures. One can fairly see the Naiad-Queen, 
standing as a spirit ui)on the ripplinu; wave. * * * The "Weird VVeddinj.':" is 
a poem fanciful, musical, and full of original beauty. The same may t)e said of 
"The Lovers," "The Fountain of the Anifel,"and the pathetic and exquisile"LeKend 
of the Moan in s Falls." The verses on "Deafness" touch the coldest heart; and 
the most inditTerent readers cannot forbear laua:hte , over the perverseness of 
J.ela Lee, in The Progress of Love. ***** I. the "Sacred Story from the 
Asiony in the Garden to the Resurrection," we find thoui^hts that breathe and 
words that burn. Not a pajie but has its beauties. The author seefus incessantly to 
dip his pen in inspiration. ***** "Pilate's Meditation" is especially fine 
— also his "Soliloquy." "The Wall of -Judas" chills the blood with Its frenzy of 
despair. "Christ beariui; the Cross" on His lascerated shoulders-, is a picture 



tliai Uciids llie truniblitiij knees ofaCjlFeii. Wlieu ''Uarsueoa" falls, it may be 
fell; and evcii in readiuji it, aloud, the voice siulis into a mouo'oue, and tlie soul 
is appalled before the terrors of the crucitixiou. "The Stoue Rolled A.way," Wo- 
man's Faith," and "Exultatiou," are stauzas that ought to iiniuorlalizj the poet 
whose coHceptiou oltliviue themes elevates him so far above the ordinary latter- 
day veisiliers. * * * * No handsomer iiift could be presented diiriu:^ th;- 
holidays than tt copy of Mr. I'axton's poems: and 1 venture to prophesy that the 
book will meet with ready sale, etc." 

That ilistiuLjiiisliLjJ sciiol.ir ;i i I b.ji<)v'o<l .iiiui.iicr, i'JiiDHii W. Ij. 
-iKK.MAXfc;, thus uoliccs the bouK : 

A splendid volume jf poems. I'o mt it is ^raud! The "tsacreil Story" is nut 
only charmiuK reading, but true doctrine; and is well calculated to fjive consola- 
tion to those who are saj in^, ' (Jh, that I knew where I might lind Him!" I am' 
glad to number among my friends one who has done so well. May God bless the 
noble work! 

Thi' ilo.N. N, U. Anukksun, uiiii u( liio l^c?t writer^ au'l protutind- 
t'sl scholars ot Missouri, thus uotices .Mr. faxtou's I)uok: 

1 find it a work of rare beauty and merit. It more than sustaius the promifie 
of excellence given by Mr. PdXtou's earlier volume. * * * It is remarkable 
for its purity of theme and seiitiiiieut, its chasteness of (iictiou and its musical ,aud 
rythmic. How ot versiticatiou. He has the rare faculty of beiulifyiny: the home 
licsl lheniH,s, and gilding them with the light of his genius. * * * Laura's 
Dream of Naiad-Laud is a beau'.iful flight of fancy, filled with gems aud dressed 
with high poetic imagery. The '•L-geiid of the .Vloauing Falls" shows rare poetic 
instinct, a pure ardent love of nature, and tine descriptive poAer.^. * * % The 
•'Sacred Slory" is one of the most remarkable devotional poems of this day. It 
I will be read and re-read with increasn.g pleasure. His translation 'if Slabat Mater , 
a the "Sacred Story" is o;ie of the mo.-^t beautifully impressive pjetns i.i this vol. 
ume, and should, of itself, bring fame to its author. »■>:-* ^q translation we 
have ever seen e(|uals this one. A solemn pathos pervades these rythmical stanzas 
and brings vividly to toe mind the sad scene of the crucifixion. 

Only si.K hundred copies have beou printed. Call ou lue. or, if pre- 
tcired.on llie aiiliior, witli $1.2."). 

A. BEATMOXT. 

I'l.ATTi; (iTV, Mo., Dec. 1(1, issr. 



POEMS 



J~ 



W, M, PAXTON, OF Platte City, Mo. 



FOR SAI.K BY 
A. BEAUMONT, Platte City, Mo. 




KANSAS CITY, MO.: 
Prkss ok Ra:m.sky, Mii.i>ktt A Hudson. 

ISST. 



o 



.ri.5 



Knterecl according to Act of Congress, in the year 1SS7, 

By W. M. I'AXTON, 

111 tlie office of the Librarian of Congress, at Wasliingti>n, D. <' 



PREFACE 



In 1881, I published for gratuitous distribution, a small 
volume of poems. My leisure has since been devoted to the 
composition of the pieces I now present to the public. Ihave 
made no ambitious effort to produce a sensation in the literary- 
world ; but I do hope that my verses will interest a small cir- 
cle of friends. It was my purpose to promote temperance, 
virtue and religion : and I sincerely pray that my book may 
do good. I have attempted to be plain and simple in my 
thoughts and phrases. A flight of fancy, or a brilliant figure, 
will seldom be found. I desire the reader to understand, 
rather than to be bewildered. I have written more for the 
home circle than the literary club. Many of my pieces have 
a moral ; and I have attempted to bring it out in language 
familiar to the ordinary reader. 

Some twelve years ago, God, as I believe, in mercy, 
deprived me, in part, of mj' hearing. The leisure I once gave 
to society, has of late years been devoted to poetry. I have 
exercised the kindest sentiments of my heart, and have 
refrained from all expressions calculated to injure or offend. 
The tributes to my deceased friends were heart-felt : my 
religious expressions were sincere, and my pieces of local or 
personal bearing, are due to the affectionate regard I liave for 
my home and people. May God's blessing attend my little 
volume and cause it to do good. 

It can l)e obtained by addressing A. Beaumont, or me, at 
Platte City, Mo., with $1.25. 

WM. M. PAXTON. 



CONTENTS. 



l-AGK. 

LAURA'S DREAM "., 17 

A CENTURY HENCK IS, 2U 

DEAFNESS 27, .!() 

THE WEIltD WEDDIJNG 31, 52 

THE SACRED STORY:— 

Tho Aj;ony '>S, 01 

The Arrest (>2, 67 

Peter's Denial US, 7o 

Jesus Before Pilute 74, !17 

Judas i)8, 104 

The Crueitixion 105, 132 

The Resnrreeliou 13.3, 141 

THE LCVERS 142, 171 

MAMIES SUN(iS 172, 177 

THE FOUNTAIN 17S, 1S4 

THE ORPHAN 185, ISS 

THE SLANDERER 1S9, 192 

ROBBIE RAY 193,202 

THE MOANING FALLS 2u3, 235 

THE -MOTHER 23(i, 217 

TEMPERANCE:— 

The Dramshop Nuisance 24S, 251 

Exultation of the Augel of 

Teniperauce 252, 25(i 

Home Saved 257, 2(il 

Delirium Tremens 262. 26(i 

Horace Clatli a and the Youth 267,269 

The Lost Babe 269, 274 

The Brewer and the Christian274, 27S 

Sheep, Croats and Jackals 279, 2s7 

Ellis Bell 287, 293 

Woman, ;Missions. etc 293, 294 

Omer's Choice 295, 297 

Wine Cuji in SicKness 298, 303 

Temperance Song 303, 304 

Love or Liquor 30.5, .306 

Phil's Supper 307, 308 

The Scholar's Trick 309 

Drunk l>ut Once 310 

John Biblier's Spree 311, 314 

How to Stop Mad Dotis 315, 317 

HOME:- 

On Earth 318,324 

In Heaven 32.5, 336 

LOVF: AND MARRIAGE :- 

A Latigard in Love .3.37,339 

Tlie Lass I Love 339, 340 

The Lover's Solilo(iuy ;^40, 341 

• An Apologue 341.347 

Man Should not be Alone 347, 3.50 

An Old Man's Love ;i50, .352 

A Wife's Undying Love.. .. :i52, 3.53 

A Mother's Plaint 353, 354 

A School Girl's Rapture 3.55 

Tin* Roguish Girls :i56, 357 

Th<' Bridegroom's Ecstacy.....3-57. :V)8 



PAGE. 

LOV'E AND MARRIAGE: — 

I'm not an Angel .3.58, 360 

Weaded Love 360, 363 

To Julia 364 

Epithalamium ::J64, 368 

To the Bride 369, 371 

PERSONAL :— 

Dan Carpenter 372, 374 

Jim Adkins ;S7.5, 378 

Rev. G. W. Jermane 379, 381 

To Mrs. C. W 381, 384 

MISCELLANEOUS :— 

Remember the Poor .38.5, 387 

Kind Words :^88, ,390 

When I Grow Old 391, 393 

The Heart a Treasure 393, 394 

To Old Men ,39.5, 399 

A Valedictory 400, 407 

Liberty's Birthday 407, 40EI 

To-morrow 410. 411 

Dedication of an All)um 412 

My Aut()i;rai>h 412 

Adam's Division 413, 414 

Charming Marj' 41.5, 417 

To a Red-Head 418 

(xod's Wisdom 419 

PLATTE CITY CF^METERY : — 

1. .lames Adkins 421, 422 

2. Infants of Ida Baker 423 

3. S.Beit 424 

4. E. Burne 42.5,426 

.5. H. T. Callahan 426 

6. J. V. Cockriil 427 

7. G. W. Field 428 

8. M. L. Flaunery 429 

9. L Flanuerv 430 

10. G. FTeshman 4:^1 

11. H. J. Freeland 432 

12. A. T. Guthrie 4:33 

i:i. W. Guthrie 4:i4 

14. T. E. Jenkiu.s 4.3^5, 436 

1.5. J. H. Johnston 4.36, 4.37 

16. S. Johnston 438, 439 

17. George Kay 439 

18. D. Martin 440 

19. A. Moore 441 

20. M. N. Owen 442, 443 

21. R. Redman 443,444 

22. W. C. Remington 444, 445 

2:^. K. Sayle 44.5, 446 

•24. N. M. Shrock 446, 447 

2.5. C. A. Skillman 447, 448 

26. J. Swaney 448, 449 

27. J. R. Swain 449, 451 

28. Julia Tebbs 4.52 

29. Joseph Walker 4.53, 4.54 



LKURS'S DRESM OF NSmD-LMD, 



-OR- 



Wealth and Pleasure Un Not Satisfy the Soul, nor Sbeck 
Its Longing After Meaien. 



You've waked me, mother, from my dream, 
Of nymph and mermaid, park and stream. 
O, mother, I beheld last night, 
A realm of wonder and delight ! 

It seemed to me that I had lound 
The lovely garden, so renowned, 
And known as Tempe's sacred vale, 
Of bower and brook, and hill and dale ; 
I walked through arbor, grove and dell, 
And sought the sea where naiads dwell ; 
I followed down a babbling brook, 
Which led me to a shady nook, 
Beside the ocean of my quest, 
And there I sat me down to rest. 

While musing on the beach, 1 spied 
A naiad walking on the tide. 
And from her dress and stately mein, 
I knew it was the Naiad Queen. 



Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 

Upon her head of royal mold, 

She wore a crown of burnished gold ; 

The tresses of her flowing hair, 

Were decked with gems and jewels rare ; 

Her snow-w^hite neck and orient pearls, 

Contrasted with her raven curls ; 

And purple robe and glittering mace, 

Gave dignity to charming grace. 

When first the queenly form I saw, 
My soul was filled with reverent awe : 
For like a spirit from the grave. 
She stood upon the rippling wave ; 
But when she came, with sylph-like grace. 
With soothing voice and smiling face. 
My fear was gone — for none so fair. 
Could in her bosom hatred bear. 

Fair maiden, come, she said to me, 
And view my home beneath the sea — 
My palaces and virgin gold, 
My gems, and pearls, and wealth untold,. 
That in the vales of ocean lie, 
Unseen by man's rapacious eye. 
Fear not, she said, but come with me. 
And view my realm beneath the sea. 

I can not tell, dear mother, why 
No fears forbade me to comply ; 
But boldly on the waves I stepped, 
And close beside my mentor kept, 



Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 

Until she paused and bade me stand, 
And firmly clasp her guiding hand : 
When, lo ! unharmed, we sank like lead, 
And as we went, I had no dread. 
Down, down we went, through waters rare, 
And lambent as the upper air. 
Around us lovely mermaids troop, 
And nymphs and peris join the group ; 
And as we move, a gathering throng 
Salute their queen with grateful song : 

Come peri and mermaid, and nymph of the ocean, 
Come show to your queen your unbounded devotion ; 
Her ear to your wail of affliction has listened, 
Her eye has with teardrops of sympathy glistened, 
The chaplet of wisdom her brow is adorning, 
Her cheeks have the roseate blush of the morning, 
Then come with your songs, all ye natives of ocean, 
And pour in the ear of the queen your devotion. 

And turning then their song to me. 
They made me welcome to the sea : 

We welcome thee, daughter of earth, to the ocean, 
All tribes of these waters present their devotion ; 
The murmuring shell for thy presence rejoices. 
The waves clap their hands with exhilarant voices ; 
The houries and fairies can give to earth's daughters, 
No homage like that you receive in these waters ; 
So welcome art thou to the treasures of ocean, 
And humbly we pay thee our heartfelt devotion. 



Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 

The grccious song was scarcely through, 
Before the mansion rose to view. 
Above the terrace floor we pend, 
Then, gently as the birds, descend. 
And here, as on the top, I stand, 
I take a view of naiad land. 
A brilliant sunlight shimmers here, 
And gilds the liquid atmosphere ; 
The waters, with prismatic art, 
The colors of the spectrum part ; 
Seven stories is the mansion's height. 
And each is clothed in different light : 
First violet, then indigo. 
Then blue light fills the belt below ; 
And next a zone is clad in green. 
And then a yellow sphere is seen ; 
The next with olive tints is spread, 
And at the bottom, all is red. 

But how this mansion came to be, 
Remains a secret of the sea ; 
The whole was reared without defect, 
For nature was the architect. 
The coral mites the work began. 
And built on instinct's perfect plan ; 
EaT^h tribe of ocean reared its part, 
And all was done by native art. 

We stood upon the lofty pile. 

And viewed the land for manv a mile. 



Ly^uRA's Dream of Naiad-Land. 

The scene, as far as eye could stretch, 
No poet's pen could fitly sketch ; 
The choicest fruits and herbage grow 
In fields and gardens far below ; 
And in the parks, the lovely sprites 
Are dancing in the varying lights. 

But while I scan the wondrous scene, 
I'm summoned by the Naiad Queen, 
Who takes me in her special care, 
And leads me down the winding stair ; 
And as we move the varying hues 
Form grand kaleidoscopic views ; 
On every floor new wonders rise, — 
New tints appear on earth and skies. 
The robe the Queen of Naiads wore, 
Was blue, upon the upper floor ; 
But when the robe again was seen, 
I found its color changed to green ; 
And when the basement floor we tread, 
It changed again, and now is red ; 
And every intermediate hue, 
As we descended, came to view. 

Now on the lower floor we stand ; 
The queen still holds me by the hand, 
And, 'neath the lofty amber gate, 
Conducts me to the hall of state ; 
And here, at her right hand, alone, 
She seats me on her diamond throne. 



10 Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 

The gay attendants, who appear 
More lovely in that atmosphere, 
Surround the rich and sparkling throne, 
And thus their loyalty make known : 

All hail to thee, queen of the light-tinted waters, 
We serve not as slaves, but attend thee, as daughters. 
No monarch on earth is endowed with such treasures, 
No people are granted more favors and pleasures ; 
We live in the present, with feasting and laughter, — 
No fears for tomorrow, no dread of hereafter ; 
So hail to the Queen of the light-tinted waters ; 
We bow at thy feet and observe thee as daughters. 

The queen then took me by the hand, 
And thus addressed the waiting band : 

Behold at my side one of earth's fairest daughters. 
Who comes to this clime of the light-tinted waters, 
To see this blest region — to look on its treasures, 
And join with the mermaids and nymphs in their 

pleasures. 
I charge you to cheer her with feasting and laughter, 
And urge her to join you, and fear not hereafter. 
We'll see if she'll stay in the light-tinted waters. 
And dwell here forever with ocean's fair daughters. 
Go take to your banquet this beautiful maiden, 
And see that her dish is with luxuries laden ; 
Go show her the wealth that is hid 'neath the ocean, 
Elicit her love by your acts of devotion ; 



Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 11 

Try every inducement and fondly endeavor 
To make it her pleasure to dwell here forever. 
Invite her to bathe in the waters of beauty, 

And drink of the fountains of youth and of health ; 
And when she returns we'll appoint her her dut3\ 

And give to her happiness, honor and wealth. 

And when the Naiad Queen had ceased. 
They led me to a royal feast. 
The luscious viands pleased me well. 
But what they were, I could not tell ; 
The loaves of rich ambrosial bread. 
The forest trees supplied, they said ; 
The nectar from a fountain came, 
The woods supplied them nuts and game ; 
The garden furnished many a dish, 
And waters yielded fowl and fish ; 
No nuptial banquet could compare 
With this, in rich and varied fare. 



But, mother, here my dream was changed 
It seemed, I through a valley ranged ; 
A peri acted as my^quide. 
And prattled sweetly at my side ; 
I found my path with pebbles strown. 
And from them chose a glittering stone. 
And by its dazzling beams I knew 
It was a gem of purest hue ; 



12 Laura's Dkeam of Naiad-Land. 

No earthly crown or diadem 

Could boast so rich and rare a gem ; 

And as I onward walked, I found 

Unnumbered diamonds paved the ground. 

In wonder and delight, I cried, 

"This vale the wealth of earth must hide ! " 

The peri, smiling, took my hand. 

To lead me to a richer land. 



Some strange enchantment changed the scene 

I see a glade all clothed in green, 

Upon the right a lakelet sleeps. 

Upon the left a fountain leaps ; 

Upon the lakelets brilliant wave, 

A score of merry naiads lave ; 

They enter ugly, foul and pale. 

But leave the waters pure and hale. 

With lovely features, perfect form, 

And bright complexions, soft and warm ; 

A heavenly smile lit every face. 

And every step was fuil of grace ; 

The forms, so lately vile and old. 

Were cast anew in beauty's mould. 

Around the mimic lake, we walked. 

And still my prattling? peri talked : 

" This is," she said, " the lakelet where 

The Goddess Beautv holds her fair ; 



Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 13 

Come, let us join these sprites at play, 

And we shall be as fair as they." 

0, how I wished to join the throng! 

But something whispered, 'twould be wrong ! 

We left and crossed the verdant glade. 
And, near the golden fountain strayed. 
Some care-worn sprites approach the urn. 
And from its waters drink by turn ; 
And wliat I learned, indeed, was strange, 
For they that drank enjoyed a change ; 
New.life and vigor course their veins, 
Their hopes revive, ambition reigns. 
Immortal youth and life prevail. 
And pain and death itself shall fail. 
My charming peri's prattling tongue 
With praises of the fountain sung. 
The goblet in my hand was placed. 
And I was strongly urged to taste ; 
I raised it once to take a sip, 
But dropped it 'ere it touched my lip. 
The thought occurred : Eternal life, 
Upon a world of sin and strife ! 
I would not, for a day, prolong 
My span of life, that's now too long. 



Again, I'm lost ; my changing dreams, 
Like fading views, give only gleams. 



14 Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 

Now, in a park the Naiad Queen, 

And all her retinue are seen ; 

They gather round me, deck my hair, 

And crown my brow with roses fair ; 

We pass through labarinthine bowers, 

And pluck elysian fruits and flowers. 

The palace looms above our heads. 

And o'er it mystic sunlight spreads — 

Its violet roof, its pearly doors, 

Its emerald windows, golden floors, 

Its amber columns, coral walls. 

Its lovely grounds and lighted halls ! 

The whole, in ecstacy, I view. 

And wonder if my eyes are true. 

But while I stand, as in a trance, 

The nymphs and peris round me dance — 

Their fragant, floral offerings bring, 

And with symphonious voices sing : 

Sweet maiden, stay in the land of the roses, 
Where sickness comes not, and no death interposes ; 
In peace and in health, you can dwell here forever. 
Where youth is immortal, and care enters never. 
No conscience upbraids us, no fears can appall us. 
For God never smites, and to judgment don't call us ; 
So, maiden, remain in the land of the roses. 
Where sickness comes not, and no death interposes. 

Sweet sister of earth, in this land of the roses. 

We'll crown thee with laurels and deck thee with posies ; 



Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 15 

To make thee contented shall be our endeavor, 
And you shall be happy and honored forever. 
We do as we list, and there's none to appall us, 
No prisons confine us, and courts never call us ; 
Then, sister, remain in the land of the roses, 
Where wealth at thy feet in abundance reposes. 

Ah, mother, all their wealth and joy 

Could not my faithful heart decoy. 

Their world seems fair, but void of bliss — 

They gave to me no tender kiss ; 

No tears are seen upon their eyes, 

No trustful prayers to God arise ; 

I saw no mark of heartfelt love, — 

No cheering hope of heaven above. 

With thoughts like these upon my mind, 

I thus the tempting lure declined : 

0, let me depart from the land of the roses, 
Your country no bliss for us mortals discloses ; 
You ask me from parents and kindred to sever, 
And dwell amid riches and pleasures forever ; 
A life with no hope and no Savior appalls me. 
While God to a life of self-sacrifice calls me ; 
So let me depart from the land of the roses. 
Where God is not found, and no law interposes. 

I ask not the wealth of the land of the roses ; 
My soul all its feasting and dancing opposes ; 
I can not leave parents and kindred forever ; 
I will not from home and its darling ones sever ; 



16 Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 

To yield up my soul for your pleasures appalls me ; 
I'll live as a Christian, whatever befalls me ; 
So bear me away from the land of the roses, 
And leave me this heart where affection reposes. 

The Queen seemed sad, I knew not why, 
And rising thus she made reply : 

"0, daughter of earth, thou hast prudently spoken, 

So let thy resolve be forever unbroken. 

The joys of this realm give us poor satisfaction ; 

We live without hope in a state of inaction ; 

We pine for the love of a father or mother, 

And what will surj^rise you, we love not each other ; 

My fate is to dwell in these waters forever — 

The thread of ray life even death can not sever ; 

The gold of the sea and the gems of the ocean, 

I'd give for one day of your faith and devotion ; 

No God ever smiles on this landscape of beauty ; 

No church-bells invite us to worship or duty ; 

And all are here poor, though surrounded with treasures, 

And sigh for relief in the midst of their pleasures ; 

So, daughter of earth, thou hast prudently spoken ; 

Then let thy resolve be forever unbroken." 

My dream here ends ; for as she spoke, 
I heard you, mother, and awoke. 
Alas ! how awful it must be 
For those fair naiads 'neath the sea ! 



Laura's Dream of Naiad-Land. 17 

For them, no Savior ever died, 
And hope of heaven has been denied ; 
No mothers with their babes are seen, 
No children play upon the green ; 
The naiads, though so sweet and fair, 
The kiss of love can never share. 
So, mother, I'm content to stay. 
Where God will hear me Avhen I pray ; 
And all the wealth beneath the sea, 
Can never buy my hope of me. 




R CENTURY HENCE, 



If we could look down the long vista of ages, 

And witness the changes of time, — 
Or draw from Isaiah's mysterious pages, 

A key to his visions sublime ; — 
We'd gaze on the picture with pride and delight,. 

And all its magnificence trace, — 
Give honor to man, for his genius and might, 

And glory to God, for His grace. 

PROGRESS. 

Behold, what astonishing progress appears — 

What wonders by man have been wrought, 
Within the past era, of one hundred years. 

Of enterprise, science and thought. 
And now we'll conjecture the glories this land, 

A century hence, shall possess, — 
When labor, invention and industry's hand, 

This country and people, shall bless. 

THE SEVEN SLEEPERS. 

We've all heard the beautiful legend, of old. 
How seven young sleepers withdrew. 

And hid in a cavern, where weary and cold. 
They slept a whole century through, — 



A. Century Hence. 19 

Then rose to return to their old habitation, 

And found it dismantled and hoary ; 
Their kindred were dead, and the new generation, 

Refused to give heed to their story. 

MY TRANCE. 

And I, too, had slept a whole century's space. 

And rising, went forth through my land ; 
I sought for my house, and at length found the place, — 

But all was so strange and so grand ! 
My cottage, that stood on the hill, was no more ; 

A mansion had covered the ground ; 
I passed through the yard, and approached to the door. 

But none to receive me was found. 

THE GARDEN. 

I went to the garden, — in wonder was lost! 

The fruits of all countries were there ! 
The fig and the date were not hurt by the frost, — 

The orange was luscious and fair; 
Each month brought renewal of all kinds of fruits ; 

The tropical flowers grew wild; 
And birds of the South, and the African brutes, 

Found seasons congenial and mild. 

A FLYINCJ FEMALE. 

In deep meditation, I wandered alone, 

And lifted my gaze to the sky ; 
And lo, a fair form in the atmosphere shone. 

Approaching from regions on high. 



20 A Century Hence. 

She hovered above me — then dropped by my side : 
" Who are you? " I asked, and retreated. 

She folded her pinions, and sweetly replied, 
'' Your hostess, come in and be seated." 

RELATIVES. 

No words can express my surprise, when I learned, 

This lady possessed my own name. 
She said I would find when her husband returned. 

He, too, would relationship claim. 
By difierent lines, they their pedigree traced, 

Through four generations to me. 
My portrait, she told me, the gallery graced, 

And there all my race I could see. 

THE DAGUERREAN ART. 

We turned to the hall, and my likeness selected ; 

And others I knew at first sight. 
She told me photography, now, was perfected, 

And colors were painted by light. 
These pictures surpassed, in their scope and design. 

The paintings of masters of art ; 
Their colors were such as no hand could combine. 

And nature alone could impart. 

RAIN PRODUCED. 

She saw that my mind was bewildered and dazed, 
And guided me forth on the green ; 

"And now," she remarked, as to heaven she gazed, 
" No cloud in the sky can be seen ; 



A Century Hence. 21 

And j'et I will bring, in the course of an hour, 

A thunder-cloud, lightning and rain ; 
And languishing nature, refreshed by the shower, 

Will smile in soft beauty again.". 

SUNSHINE. 

She stepped to a rod that extended on high, 

And touched it, with magical craft : 
The gathering vapors grew thick in the sky. 

And poured out a copious draught. 
She touched it, again, and the sun from his path, 

Looked down with exhilarant ray ; 
All nature rejoiced in the life-giving bath. 

And mountain and meadow were gay. 

ACCLIMATURE. 

We walked among nutmeg and cinnamon bowers, 

By statues and beautiful fountains, — 
Mid tropical shrubbery, fruit-trees and flowers, — 

By streamlets and miniature mountains; — 
Saw birds of rich plumage, from Borneo's isle, 

And humming-birds brought from Brazil, 
While songsters from Europe, the Ganges and Nile, 

(Uad nature's rich orchestra fill. 

SCIENTIFIC ACHIEVEMENTS. 

The lady explained that as science progressed, 

Man ruled upon sea and in air, — 
That storms were forbidden, — the sea kept at rest. 

And seasons made fruitful iind fair; 



22 A Century Hence. 

That flowers and animals far away reared, 

Acclimated here, had grown wild; 
And motors, much stronger than steam, had appeared,- 

Yet cheap, economic and mild. 

ATMOSPHERIC SHIP. 

"And look ! " she exclaimed, as she lifted her face; 

" There, now, in the sky, is a ship : 
As swift as an eagle, it moves to this place ; 

For husband returns from his trip." 
He stepped from the vessel, as near us it came, 

And dropped through the air as a dove : 
He knew me distinctly, and speaking my name, 

Received me in tenderest love. 

AN AERIAL VOYAGE. 

He told of his visit to Paris and Rome ; 

Of flying through England and Spain ; 
But found, in his travels, no land like his home — 

No place where he wished to remain. 
He spoke of his trip to the banks of the Nile, 

Of Africa's mountains and plains ; — 
Of China, Japan and Australia's isle. 

Redeemed from idolatry's chains. 

RETURN HOME. 

In Asia no monarch could sit on a throne ; 

Ancestral distinctions had failed ; 
All titles were canceled — the slave was unknown ^ 

And freedom and order prevailed. 



A Century Hence. 23 

And when he had passed o'er the isles of the ocean, 

And reached California's strand, 
His spirit Avas filled with a thrilling emotion. 

Of pride in his own native land. 

A VIEW FROM THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 

He rested on top of a towering mountain, 

And turned for a view of the West: 
The land was a park, with its forest and fountain, — 

A home for the free and the blest. 
He turned to the East, and a prospect so fair, 

No sorcerer's wand ever cast — 
No vale of delight could in beauty compare. 

And Eden itself was surpassed. 

THE WHOLE CONTINENT OURS. 

The Capitol, midway, at Leavenworth loomed, 

With lofty and glittering steeple — 
The seat of a State that as Paradise bloomed. 

Containing a billion of people. 
"And now," he exclaimed, " the whole continent's ours, 

From Panama north to the pole ; 
For naught but the ocean can fetter our powers. 

Nor give to us less than the whole." 

ONE LANGUAGE AND RELIGION. 

He told me no language but English was known, — 

Or taught to the children from birth ; 
And that the religion of Jesus, alone, 

Prevailed with the nations of earth ; 



24 A Century Hence. 

The glorious day of millennial rest, 

By sages and saints was expected ; 
Contentment their radiant faces expressed, 

And hope from their eyes was reflected. 

DOMESTIC AFFAIRS RULED BY THE STATE. 

Each child is appointed to some avocation, 

And trained for the place he will fill ; 
Each man understands he belongs to the nation, 

And bows to the popular will : 
Physicians, appointed by law for each station. 

Prevent or provide for disease ; 
And lawyers are sworn to avoid litigation. 

And settle all suits without fees. 

MACHINERY. 

The waters and atmosphere furnish a power. 

Which no one controls but the State ; 
The clouds and the ocean — the sunshine and shower, 

Commands from an officer, wait ; 
The plough and the mill, by this power, are run, 

And men have to labor no more ; 
For work is by art and machinery done, 

And government cares for the poor. 

INVENTIONS. 

We entered the house, and my comrades reported, 
That roads through the land were not found ; 

That men, on light wings, in the atmosphere sported, 
Or walked as they pleased, on the ground. 



A Century Hence. . 25 

By arts and inventions, one man could do more,. 

Than fifty without them, could do ; 
So people were able to add to their store, 

And men became noble and true. 

SUPPER. 

An order for supper, by telephone, now, 

Had scarcel}'^ been made by my host, 
When in sprang a servant, I cannot tell how. 

With coffee, ham, biscuit and toast. 
He brought from St. Louis, a steaming hot bowl, 

With viands I never had known, 
Fresh fruits from the tropics, — pure ice from the pole. 

And meats from the temperate zone. 

LIGHT. 

When supper was ended, I found it still light: 

I looked for a lamp, but saw none ; 
I stepped to the door, to look forth on the night, 

And found every house had a sun. 
Above me, in splendor surpassing the moon, 

A disk in the heavens was seen ; 
And neighboring orbs gave the brilliance of noon, 

And nature was bright and serene. 

OONCLUSION. 

The light, by reflectors, was gathered and cast, 

In drawing room, chamber and hall; 
And candles and lamps were consigned to the past ; 

For light, like the air, was for all. 



26 



A Century Hence. 



Now wearied, I early retired for rest, 

That slumber my strength might redeem ; 

And rose in the morning, perplexed and distressed, 
To find it was only a dream. 






.DERFNESS. 



WRITTEN, 1878. 

The world is inclined to condole with the blind, 

And mourn his unfortunate state ; 
But no one bestows on the deaf man's woes, 

The sympathy due to his fate. 
And many believe that they scarcely would grieve, 

If hearing alone were destroyed ; 
While loss of the sight would bring hideous night, 

And earth would be cheerless and void. 

Though Homer was blind, yet his writing, we find, 

Exalt him 'mong poets and sages ; 
Though centuries dead, still his verses are read, 

And will be admired for ages. 
And Milton was blind when he wrote for mankind. 

His drama of heaven and earth ; 
And history proclaims a thousand great names, 

Of men who were blind from their birth. 

But while we may find noted men who were blind, 

'Tis seldom the deaf man can rise ; 
I think of but one — the great Kitto alone. 

Whose wonderful writings we prize. 



28 Deafnes;?. 

From him we may learn, even deaf men may earn 

The honors we all strive to gain ; 
And, therefore, I feel, new courage and zeal, 

To prove I'm not living in vain. 

Till four years ago, I knew not the woe, 

Of deafness that now I lament ; 
Society brought the amusements I sought, 

And gaily my evenings were spent. 
My friends by the score, came in troops to my door. 

And music and converse were cheering ; 
Prosperity smiled on its fortunate child, 

Until I was robbed of my hearing. 

But deafness came on, and my pleasures were gone ; 

My comrades now left me alone. 
I only can hear, when the speaker is near, 

And talks in his natural tone. 
Apart with a friend, I can pleasantl}' spend, 

A season of social delight ; 
And therefore I seek with one person to speak. 

Where no one can with us unite. 

The voices of childhood and songs of the wildwood, 

Are cheering no more to my soul ; 
And music that charms, and other hearts warms, 

Has lost over me its control. 
'Twas once my delight, in God's house to unite, 

In holy communion and prayer. 
But now what is said, falls on ears that are dead, 

And seldom I want to be there. 



Deafness. 29 

Society's ban is upon the deaf man — 

He's banished from parlor and hall ; 
The friends whom he meets in the marts or the streets, 

Will scarcely give heed to his call ; 
From company barred, he receives no regard, — 

For deaf men, they think, are austere ; 
But all to the blind are attentive and kind. 

Because, what is said, they can hear. 

Though socially dead, and my business has fled, 

I still have the use of my eyes ; 
And shall not submit and despondently sit 

Without a strong effort to rise. 
Henceforth, I must look to my pen and my book. 

For solace, support and relief, 
And never resent the disdain that is meant 

To vex me and bring me to grief. 

Now, friends, come and meet me, come pleasantly greet me, 

Your friendship I prize more than ever; 
I'm deaf, it is true, but it won't worry you. 

So come and be social and clever. 
Come close to my ear, every word I can hear. 

Thus spoken, when we are alone ; 
But sorely 'twill hurt me, if friends should desert me. 

Or pass me as if I'm unknown. 



30 Deafness 



ADDED, 1880. 



Mid business and strife, in the heyday of life, 

No time for reflection was taken, — 
Till mercy, in tears, put her seal on my ears, 

And now to new joys I awaken. 
For thus I find time to write pages in rhyme, 

And fashion my thoughts into measure ; 
And oft to the skies my affections arise, 

For there I have laid up my treasure. 

ADDED, 1886. 

And now I'm resigned, for my deafness, I find. 

Has brought me more pleasure than pain ; 
Ambition and pride in my bosom have died. 

And faith, hope and charity reign. 
And when my life's sun its full circuit has run, 

May light in the evening not fail. 
And may my last scene be all bright and serene, 

And Christ be my guide through the vale. 



SMR AND HENRI, 



-OR- 



TSE WEIRD WEDDIM. 



When grim and ruthless persecution 

Invaded Erin's northern shore, 
And when Italia's saints and martyrs 

Enriched the Piedmont vales with gore, 
Two men of Protestant religion, 

For rights of conscience, sought the West, 
And, by the rippling Shenandoah, 

Found safety, freedom, peace and rest. 

McDowell had, in north of Erin, 

Preached Luther's faith with great success ; 
But Popish plots were laid to seize him. 

And by the sword his work suppress!. 
He therefore left his home in sorrow, 

With those he valued more than life, — 
His lovely daughter, — darling Sara, — 

And Anne, his pure and charming wife. 

The year McDowell came from Erin, 
John Arnauld also crossed the sea, — 

A victim of the Inquisition, — 
A Protestant and refugee. 



32 Sara and Henri. 

Beside the purling Shenandoah, 

Where wild, unbroken forests swayed. 

The exiles built their humble cabins, 
Surrounded by primeval shade. 

New settlers came, until the valley 

Was sparsely filled with pioneers; 
But while, with others, there is friendship, 

Between the exiles none appears. 
They sometimes met, but passed each other 

Without a kind or cordial word; 
And on the lips of either exile, 

The other's name was never heard. 

McDowell had an only daughter, 

Possessed of beauty, grace and thought; 
And in her heart fair Sara cherished 

The faith her saintly father taught. 
And Arnauld's only child was Henri, 

A youth his parents left behind. 
To gain, abroad, the education 

He could not in Virginia find. 
His father wanted him well grounded, 

In Christain faith and civic lore. 
And sent him to the German teachers, 

Their deep arcana to explore. 
Young Henri scaled the hill of science, 

Imbibed his fill from Wisdom's spring. 
And reached the highest realms of learning, 

Upon ambition's eager wing. 



Sara and Henri. . 33 

With grave philosophers and sages, 

The laws of matter were discussed, 
And from profound ecclesiastics, 

He learned how God, through Christ was just. 
Through Europe, Africa and Asia, 

He traveled far and wide, alone, 
And made the languages of nations. 

Their learning and their arts, his own. 
And then he crossed the broad Atlantic, 

With compass set and sail unfurled. 
To find a welcome at his father's. 

In what was called the Western World. 
Here limpid waters, boundless forests, 

And noble game on every hill. 
Commanded "^Henri's youthful ardor, 

And claimed the sportsman's practised skill. 

One day young Henri met with Sara, 

Beside the murmuring Shenandoah: 
A form so fair, a face so lovely. 

The 3-outh had never seen before. 
She rose in timid admiration, — 

A modest blush suffused her cheek, — 
And when a placid smile succeeded, 

He felt at liberty to speak : 

HENRI. 

Young lady, I beg thee be seated, — 
My presence should give no alarm. 

From loneliness here I retreated, 
Intending and fearing no harm. 



34 Sara and Henri. 

My youth has been spent as a ranger, 
But here for my life I'll abide ; 

So, deem me no longer a stranger, 
For yonder my parents reside. 

SARA. 

Dear sir, I am happy to meet you, 

For often I've heard of your name. 
Come, sit by my side, I entreat you. 

And tell me why westward you came. 
These wilds are surrounded with dangers, 

And solitude leaves us with God. 
We hail the arrival of strangers, 

Who bring us the news from abroad. 
Come, tell me of Erin and Derry ; 

Are Protestants faithful and true ? 
Do priests in their orgies grow merry, 

And fell persecution renew ? 

HENRI. 

Hibernia's martyrs no longer 

Send up unto God their complaints ; 
But papal intolerance is stronger, 

And murders Waldensian saints. 
The valleys of Piedmont grow fertile 

With blood that the pontiff has shed ; 
And homes that were clad with the myrtle, 

Are draped with the cypress, instead. 



Sara and Henri. 35 



SARA. 

The valleys of Piedmont have nourished 

A brave and magnanimous clan ; 
There, truth had for centuries flourished, 

Ere Luther proclaimed it to man. 
As heroes, they met th^ oppressor, 

And would not submit to his rod; 
They wanted no Roman confessor, 

And bowed to no master but God. 
The rack of the vile Inquisition, 

The gibbet, the sword, and the stake, 
Brought none of your race to submission. 

And could not their constancy shake. 
How noble the blood you inherit ! 

What firmness and zeal it inspires ! 
I know you will labor to merit 

The honor we give to your sires. 

An hour had passed in conversation. 

When Sara, pointing to her boat, 
Proposed a ride, — and in a moment 

Upon the lovely stream they float. 
And Henri, who was skilled in rowing. 

Propelled the boat with rapid oar, 
Until they reached the Elfin Island, 

And moored the skiff" upon the shore. 

When, seated in the fairy grotto. 

She told, with changing tear and smile. 



36 Sara and Henri. 

The story of the mystic couple, 

Who dwelt upon that sacred isle, — 

Who fled before an irate father. 

And in that grotto lived and died ; 

For then the native tribes were friendly, 
And welcomed kindly groom and bride 

The Indians loved the truant lad}", 

And almost worshipped one so fair; 
And when the unrelenting father 

Had found his trembling daughter there, 
They bade him leave their sacred country, 

And never more the man was seen, — 
But she was loved, and in that grotto, 

Maintained her court, as sylvan queen. 

Once more upon the limpid waters 

The oarsman showed his strength and skill. 
By dashing boldly up the rapids. 

And resting where the stream was still. 
Around them rose the rugged mountains, 

Like sentinels around a camp ; 
The sun had hid behind a summit. 

The moon had lit her evening lamp. 
And still they rode upon the waters. 

Unconscious of the passing da}". 
Until the whippoorwill gave warning, 

And shadows bade them haste away. 
And Sara, when they reached the rapids. 

Stood at the helm and took command ; 



Sara and Henri. 37 

And through the heaving, boiling torrent, 

The boat was guided by her hand. 
When floating past the Elfin Isla,nd, 

Their thoughts about the legend throng, 
And Sara, moved by inspiration. 

Poured forth her soul in tender song. 

sara's song : love is a divine impulse. 

I'll go with my love and will follow him blindly, 
Like her of the Grotto of Shenandoah Isle. 

In wrong or affliction, I'll smile on him kindly, 

Though friends may condemn him and foes may revile. 

I envy the lady, with love all-excelling. 

Who followed her spouse to this beautiful stream, 

Embellished a grotto, and made it a dwelling. 

Where love could be true, and devotion supreme. 

The love that is perfect obeys inspiration. 

And trustingly takes its commands from the heart ; 
The soul that is noble in every sensation. 

In matters of love makes not reason its chart. 
The passions are stronger and truer than reason. 

And love is endowed with an instinct divine ; 
The hand must submit to the heart, or its treason 

The life of the culprit to woe will consign. 

Cast oil on the billows, — you quiet the ocean ; 

Speak calmly to anger and wrath you control ; 
But vain is the effort to stay the commotion. 

When Love, in mad passion, tears wildly the soul 



38 Sara and Henri. 

I never shall marry until I discover 

A heart that is true and sincere as my own ; 

And then while I live I will honor my lover, 
As flesh of my flesh, and as bone of my bone. 

When hearts coalesce, and in love are united, 

Let QO man divide them, for God made them one. 
In heaven are recorded the vows they have plighted, 

And man can't undo what Jehovah has done. 
There's nothing but death has the power to sever 

Two hearts that are faithful, united and pure; 
They love but one time, but that time is forever, 

And love will grow stronger while life shall endure. 
^ * * * * ^ * 

We visit now McDowell's dwelling. 

And hear w^hat parents have to say : 
"My dear," the father speaks in sadness, 
" I've heard unpleasant news to-day ; 
It seems our daughter spent last evening 

Upon the stream with Arnauld's son. 
I hate those vagabond Italians, - 

And think that something should be done. 
We fled from papal persecution, 

And sought for peace this Western wild, 
And now this vagrant youth has found us. 

And fain would rob us of our child. 
These men are papal spies, I'm certain ; 

Their presence here bodes only ill. 
The boy has been well educated, 

And in their plots his part can fill. 



Sara and Henri. 39 

Go, warn your daughter of her danger, 

And bid lier not to leave her home ; 
But give to her no intimation. 

That Henri came direct from Rome." 

Now let us seek the house of Arnauld, 

And hear the parents talk awhile. 
The wife thus speaks : " I have discovered 

That even here there's popish guile. 
I'm told that Henri met that siren, — 

McDowell's daughter, whom we fear, — 
And spent last evening on the river, 

In rowing, as her gondolier. 
I hate the low, degraded Irish, 

Who worship at St. Patrick's shrine. 
No daughter of a popish minion 

Shall ever wed a son of mine ! " 

" Then, wdfe," ihe husband answered, 
" I'll go, forthwith, to seek the boy. 
And tell him this unequal marriage 

Would all my peace and hopes destroy." 
He met with Henri in the garden, 

And told him plainly of his views, 
And even threatened to discard him. 

If he a Catholic should choo.se. 
But Henri knew his father's failing, 
And condescendingly replied : 
^' I'll never, while I have my reason, 
Accept a Papist for my l)ride." 



40 Sara and Henri. 

One lovely morning Sara mounted 

Upon Delight, her faithful steed, 
And while she gamboled through the forest, 

Bestowed upon her route no heed. 
She grazed her horse in every valley, 

And let him drink at every stream, 
But recognized, at length, her danger, 

Like one awakened from a dream. 
She heard the river's rippling music, 

She saw the mountain's craggy side, 
But where was home, or where was safety, 

She was not able to decide. 
She thought of night and hideous darkness. 

Of savage foes and feasts of prey, 
And turned her horse, as she thought, homeward. 
But 'twas, in truth, the other way. 

On every hill she stopped to listen, — 
Her beating heart was all she heard, — 

In nature's dread and awful silence. 
No cricket chirped, no leaflet stirred. 

By devious paths, through gloomy forests, 
She pressed her faithful, panting steed ; 

And once she stopped, and looking upward, 
"I'm lost," she cried, " I'm lost indeed ! " 

But ere reverberating echoes 

Upon the startled air had died, 
A huntsman's horn was sounded near her, 

And hoarsely baying dogs replied. 



Sara and Henri." 41 

A moment later, Henri Arnauld 

Advanced and bade her fear no harm. 
But Sara seemed with terror stricken, 

And turning, showed a strange alarm. 
But Henri, riding close beside her. 

Asked, kindly, had she lost her way ; 
And offered, gallantly to guide her 

To home and friends, without delay. 
But she replied : "My father ordered 

That I must meet with you no more. 
He chided me the time I met you 

Upon the rippling Shenandoah. 

" Our fathers fear," he said, " each other,— 

And you don't know the reason why ! 
It is because each one supposes 

The other is a papal spy. 
From heroes both our sires descended. 

And both have felt the papal rod; 
They sought this wild and western valley 

That they might safely worship God. 
If they but knew each other fully. 

What friends and brothers they would be ! 
And not a word of opposition 

Would intervene 'twixt you and me." 

These words were full of cheer to Sara, 
And brought her spirits back once more. 
" I'm sure that you are right," she answered, 
" For I have thought the same before. 



42 Sara and Henri. 

Then we'll consider father's order 
Has been suspended for to-day, 

And I'll accept you as my escort, — 

So spur your horse and lead the way." 

He led her down the gloomy valley, 

Until they reached the Sulphur Spring, 
Around whose waters early legends, 

And wild, romantic stories, cling. 
Beneath a spreading oak they halted. 

And turned their horses loose to graze ; 
This charming spot, for ages hallowed, 

Changed Sara's gloom to joy and praise. 
For she had seen it wdth her father. 

And Eagle-Eye,— an Indian brave, 
Who passed his boyhood in this valley. 

And hither came, to find a grave. 
She'd often heard the aged warrior 

The tale of Elfin Isle recite, 
And tell how Red-men loved the lady, 

And claimed her as a heavenly sprite. 
They looked with wonder on her beauty, 

And served her as their sovereign queen ; 
And once a year, from love and duty, 

The chiefs were at her grotto seen. 
They brought her peltries, game and honey, 

And brought their controversies, too ; 
And to her wdll they all submitted, 

For she was holy, wise and true. 



Sara and Henri. 4S 

But after many snows had melted, 

The Spirit claimed her for his own, 
And to the Sulphur Spring they brought her, 

Where yet her rock-bound grave is shown. 

Upon the sward, from Henri's wallet, 

A huntsman's frugal fare was spread, 
Which formed a feast of royal dainties, 

Though nothing more than meat and bread. 
Two precious hours were spent in converse. 

And passed as some delightful dream.. 
No listener heard their tender wooing^ 

Except the forest and the stream. 
The thought, hoAvever, came unbidden. 

That both their parents would object; 
And this, it seemed, would be the breaker 

On which their hopes would all be wrecked. 

" I've never disobeyed my father. 

And never will," the maiden said; 
" And not without his precious blessing 

Will I the dearest lover wed, 
I go to father for his counsel, 

I go to mother for my task. 
And neither ever fail to give me 

Whatever favors I may ask. 
My mother taught me, in my childhood, 

The ten commandments to repeat, 
And now I'll sing to you the verses 

I learned to chant at mother's feet." 



44 Saha and Henri. 

SARA's song : the bud, flower and fruit — SPRING, SUMMER 
and autumn — CHILD, MAIDEN AND MATRON — MOTHER, 
FATHER AND HUSBAND. 

In childhood's fresh and fragrant spring, 

Take counsel from thy mother ; 
The bud to parent stem must cling, — 

So you should trust no other. 

In maidenhood's midsummer bloom, 

Thy father's counsel ponder ; 
As flowers from plants derive perfume. 

So never from him wander. 

In autumn-time of matronhood, 
Thy husband should advise thee ; 

And when life's fruit is ripe and good, 
He still will love and prize thee. 

Then when in age and gloom you grope, 
The God of grace will hear thee ; 

And buds of faith, fresh flowers of hope, 
And fruits of love will cheer thee. 



The sun was near the western mountains 
Before the lovers left their seat. 

And as they slowly wended homeward, 
They fixed a time and place to meet. 



Sara and Henri. 45 

Their trysting-place was on the island, 

And there the secret plan was laid, 
To decorate the Fairy Grotto, 

And get the boys and girls to aid ; 
Then call the people all together . 

To signalize the great event, — 
The happy marriage of the lovers. 

With both their parents' glad consent. 

The youths and maidens of the country 

Were set to work on Elfin Isle, 
To make arrangements for the marriage. 

In olden beauty, form and style. 
Two weeks they labored on the grotto, 

And swept and gilded every stone ; 
With brush and pencil walls were garnished. 

And with a weird beauty shone. 
Bright lamps and chandeliers were borrowed, 

And hung above the grotto hall; 
A marriage altar filled the center. 

And prints and mirrors graced the wall. 
A splendid throne was made for Hymen, 

And gorgeous seats and leafy bowers 
Were placed around the splendid chamber. 

And decked with evergreens and flowers. 
The floor was spread with brilliant carpets, 

Bewildering, in the colored light, 
And lovely costumes were provided 

For Hymen, Cupid, nymph and knight. 



46 Sara and Henri. 

The work Ixfcame a misty riddle, — 
For explanation was denied ; 

The people knew there'd be a wedding, 
But could not guess the groom or bride. 

At length, when preparations ended, 

The evening for the rite was named ; 
And heralds, sent in all directions, 

A wedding on the isle proclaimed. 
The bride and groom were never mentioned, 

But only time and place were told. 
The mystery increased the wonder. 

And swelled the concourse many fold. 
Meantime the youths and maidens gathered, 

And all things were in order set ; 
The bride and groom, in bowers secreted, 

Were neither to appear as yet. 

The heralds, by design, gave notice 

To Arnauld and McDowell last; 
A trumpeter before each dwelling. 

At sunset, gave a piercing blast. 
And heralds told the startled parents. 

Who came in answer to the call. 
That Henri would fjiir Sara marry, 

At seven o'clock, in Fairy Hall ; 
Then turning, hastened to the island, 

Where hundreds waited in suspense. 
Expecting some strange, weird wedding. 

Of elf or fairy, would commence;. 



Sara and IIenki. 47 

King Hymen, with his crown and scepter, 

Presided, on his brilliant seat; 
An'i nymph and houri, knight and herald, 

In silence waited at his feet. 

But now the eager crowd is startled, — 
McDowell, dripping wet and wild, 
Came plunging in the hall, exclaiming: 

" My daughter ! where's my darling child ? " 
And, with a gesture of defiance. 
The god of marriage boldly eyed 
" Your daughter's here, and well protected," 
The king, with gracious smih;, replied. 

"But where," McDowell rudely answered, 
"Is that Italian she would wed? 
Before I'd witness such an union, 

A thousand times I'd wish her dead. 
No, never will I give my daughter 

To hated and apostate Rome; 
For })apal persecution drove me 

From friends and country, church and home. 
And sinc(,' I've sought this western forest. 

Vindictive foes pursue me still ; 
And now they rob me of my daughter. 

And hope to force me to their will." 

"But you are wrong," King Hymen answered; 
" He's not a Catliolic, I know. 
But holds the faitli that Knox expounded, — 
And all these friends will tell you so." 



48 Sara and Henri. 

The multitude in concert answered : 

" He is a Protestant indeed ! " 
And when McDowell asked his neighbors, 
He found, in this, they were agreed. 

"But how," he asked, "can an Italian 

The faith of Protestants profess ? " 
" Because," the king replied, " in Piedmont 

Waldensian saints the truth possess." 
" Is Arnauld from the Piedmont valleys ? " 

McDowell cried, his face aglow, — 
" I claim him then as friend and brother. 

Though long I've feared him as a foe. 
I'll see the youth, and if I find him 

Of that Waldensian stock you say, 
I'll not oppose my Sara's marriage, 

But freely let her have her way." 

A herald led him back to Henri, 

And in his bower the twain conversed, 

Until, in mutual admiration, 

The late estrangement was immersed. 

And now comes Arnauld ; and commotion. 

Among the outside crowd, arose. 
His hat was gone, — his hair dishevelled. 

And water trickled from his clothes. 
His horse had missed the ford in crossing. 

And Arnauld had to swim to shore ; 
But, disregarding his appearance, 

He rushed upon the grotto floor. 



Sara and Henri. 49 

" I come," he cried, " to stop this marriage ; 

My son shall wed no Irish lass ; 
That bigoted and graceless people 

Are low and vulgar, as a class. 
I've suffered in the Inquisition ; 

For peace I crossed the ocean wave 
And ere my son shall wed a Papist, 

My corse shall fill an exile's grave." 

" McDowell, sir," the king responded, 
" Was born in Erin — that is true, — 
But every drop of blood is Scottish, 

And deepest Presbyterian-blue. 
McDowell's father died a martyr. 

For conscience, freedom, home and God ; 
He fell at Derry, nobly battling 

Against a popish tyrant's rod. 
To preach the faith of Knox and Luther 

The son was chosen and ordained. 
And by his bold and pointed preaching, 

The hatred of the priesthood gained. 
Pursued by popish emissaries. 

He sought seclusion in the West, 
And all the people of this valley 

His truth and purity attest." 

A murmured word of approbation, 

From many waiting friends was heard ; 

But Arnauld stood transfixed with wonder, 
And for a time spoke not a word. 



50 Sara and Henri. 

At length, his consciousness returning, 

As to himself he slowly said : 
" Can this be true ? Was I mistaken ? 

Then why not let the lovers wed ? 
I heard McDowell came from Erin, 

And I assume'l too much, I fear: 
I'll seek his pardon, — make confession. 

And plead, — though wrong, — I was sincere." 
And then he said, addressing Hymen : 

" I want to grasp McDowell's hand, 
And wh}^ I've been reserved and distant, 

I'll try to make him understand." 

The king replied : " You'll find McDowell, 

With other friends, in yonder Ijooth. 
I think a word of explanation 

Will lead to friendship, love and truth." 
A herald led to Henri's bower, 

And Sara joined the others there. 
We'll not disturb their sweet communion. 

We'll not a word they said declare. 
We only know their conversation 

Was contrite, holy, pure and true; 
And we must wait in patient silence, 

Until the solemn conclave's through. 

Full half an hour was spent in converse, 
When Arnauld came and made report, 

That peace prevailed, and that the wedding 
Would now take place in Hymen's court. 



Sara and Henri. 51 

He added that his friend, McDowell, 

Would solemnize the marriage rite, 
Andthat they asked the help of Hymen, 

And aid of hoiiri, nymph and knight. 

The gay attendants, as instructed. 

Arose and formed themselves in line. 
And from the trysting-place escorted 

The bride and groom to Hymen's shrine. 
The bride appeared a sylvan goddess, 

Her right hand bore a golden mace, 
A roseate crown enriched her beauty. 

And floral wreaths enhanced her grace ; 
A torch was borne by each attendant, 

The wedding march was gaily sung. 
And with a melody seraphic, 

The grotto's echoing arches rung. 
McDowell then performed with feeling. 

The rite that made two beings one, 
And in his blessing, told his daughter, 

"You've gained a husband, I, a son." 
And Arnauld blessed his boy, and told him : 

"I thought my boy was lost for life; 
But lo, I've found a lovely daughter. 

And you have found a charming wife." 

Hiljfrity and glad confusion 

Possessed the intermingling throng. 



52 



Sara and Henri. 



An hour commenced by glee and laughter, 
Was closed with cheerfulness and song. 

Now that my lay of love is ended, 

May bride and groom on earth be blest ! 

And may their souls, in union blended. 
Enjoy in heaven eternal rest ! 







THE SACRED STORY, 

From the Agony io ths Sardsn to tt?s Resurrectm 



CHAPTER I.— THE AGONY. 



NARRATIVE. 

The time, is midnight's ghostly hour ; 
The place, — a vale where shadows lower ; — 
'Tis Kidron's glen, where olive trees 
Are waving to a gentle breeze. 
The moon is near the crest of night, 
And clothes the hills in mellow light, — 
AVhile clouds, anon, obscure her face. 
And sheen and shade each other chase. 

In yonder garden, Satan stands, 
With folded wings and restless hands : 
His face is sinister and bold ; 
His bearing arrogant and cold. 
Before him Christ; with moistened cheeks, 
Both lists and prays, while Satan speaks : 



SATAN S FIRST TEMPTATION : TO SAVE THE FALLEN ANGELS. 

Three years have passed since last we met 

On Judah's desert plain : 
Your folly, there, you must regret, 

And hence we meet again. 

— 5 — 



54 The Sacred Story. 

I was an angel, once, you know, — 
Was near thy Father's side, — 

But now, consigned to endless woe, 
I'm forced to cringe and hide. 

You've come, in flesh, to die for man,- 

To save a worthless race ; 
While noble angels, by your plan, 

Shall not enjoy your grace. 
It would not cost another pain, 

To save us outcasts, too : 
Then why not take us back again. 

To serve the Lord anew ? 

If we are lost, so man should be ! 

Our numbers are as great. 
Behold my hosts, — their myriads see. 

And heed their wretched state. 
Thine own apostles are not true ; — 

This very night, they flee ! 
There's not a Roman, Greek nor Jew, 

To help, or stand by, thee. 

There's not a mortal asks th}!- grace ! 

Then will you for them die ? 
And will you save the thankless race. 

And not regard our cry ? 
If men are saved and angels passed, 

There's rank injustice done! 
And must my host in hell be cast, 

While heaven by man is won? 



The Sacred Story. , 55 

narrative. ' - 

To this harangue the Savior made reply : 
" For man, alone, I came on earth to die. 
Thyself didst compass Adam's wretched fall, 
And all his noble race in sin enthrall. 
So thou art guilty, and thy jealous clan, 
Of thine own wretchedness, and that of man. 
In one respect, I came to die for thee ; 
For what you laid on man, now falls on me. 
Thou hast an evil and an envious eye, 
Thy victim's restoration to deny. 
Since you, and your companions, can't be saved, 
Would you have them, you ruined, still enslaved?" 
The fiend retreats, and midnight air 
Conveys the Savior's mournful prayer : 

THE savior's first PRAYER. 

Father, this night my heart is sore oppressed : 

This is that dark, appalling hour. 
When on my soul all man's transgressions rest, 

And Satan plies his galling power. 
When Satan first on me his influence tried, 
He tempted only appetite and pride ; 
But now he racks my soul with doul)ts and fears, 
And whispers threats and curses in my ears. 

Father, I came to bear the curse of sin., — 

And wilt Thou turn Thy wrath on me ! 
Say, Father, canst Thou not salvation win. 

Yet i)ass this cup, and set me free? 
But still I'm bold to bear and strong to save; 
I wait Thy wrath, and Satan's scourge I'll brave : 
And if, my God, this cup Thou wilt not stay, 
I'll drink it, and the utmost farthing pay. 



56 The Sacred Story. 



NARRATIVE. 

When this, the first temptation, ends. 
The Savior, rising, joins his friends. 
He finds them sleeping, bids them pray, 
And walk not in temptation's way. 
Yet He, himself, returns, again, 
A second trial to sustain. 

'Twas fitting, in Redemption's plan, 
That wrath for sin, should fall on man. 
'Twas not the son of God that died. 
But Christ, the man, was crucified. 
As man. He suffered in our stead, 
As man He prayed and wept and bled. 

The Tempter meets the Lord again, 
With hosts of demons in his train. 
With curling lip, disdainful eyes, 
And harsh, discordant tones, he cries: 



SATAN S SECOND TEMPTATION : SAVE US, OR YOU SHALL BE 
EXPOSED. 

Once more, I come, and now in power; 

My legions fill the skies. 
We've watched thy path from life's first hour, 

With jealous, prying eyes. 
We know thy sins of thought and deed; 

They've all been noted, too; 
And here, this volume you may read. 

And your transgressions view. 

Hypocrisy and cant have been 

Thy stock and merchandise ; 
And we have marked each secret sin. 

With scrutinizing eyes. 



The Sacred Story. 57 

Thy sins shall be exposed to God, — 

To angel, man, and fiend ; 
You'll feel the Father's vengeful rod, 

Before all worlds convened. 

Thy human soul shall find a place 

In hell's profound abyss. 
And fiends, with hideous, mocking face. 

Shall triumph, laugh and hiss. 
Then why not drop thy partial plan, 

Of sacrifice and pain ; 
For we are more thy friends than man, — 

As shall this day be plain. 

And why not save us while you may, — 

For soon t'will be too late : 
And if my hosts are passed, this day, 

Exposure is your fate 
Like Adam, you may stand or fall : 

One sin your fate will seal : 
And if you will not save us all, 

I shall your sins reveal. 

NARRATIVE. 

The Savior, grandly, raised His head, 

And looking round Him, calmly said: 
' I came to bear the sins of Adam's race, 
And man, alone, shall be redeemed by grace. 
My soul is undefiled, and free from sin ; 
And none can say I am not pure within. 
My Father's voice commends what I have done, 
And He still claims me for His well-loved son. 



58 The Sacred Story. 

So leave ! and my transgressions you may tell : 
But fallen angels must return to hell." 

The Tempter left, in blank despair, 

And Jesus fell, again, in prayer. 

THE savior's second PRAYER. 

Oh search my heart, my Father, and reveal, 

If there is sin upon my soul ; 
And grant my weary heart may never feel, 

The power of Satan's fell control. 
0, Father, let thy countenance appear, 
And rid my soul of agonizing fear : 
And pass this cup, if such shall be Thy will, — 
But if it is Thy wish, I'll drink it still. 

NARRATIVE. 

The second test of faith is past. 
And now. He enters on His last. 
The Tempter comes, again, in force. 
And demons swarm from every course. 
The devil speaks, with Haming eyes. 
And thus both God and man defies: 

THIRD TEMPTATION : SAVE US, OR AN AWFUL DEATH AWAITS YOU. 

I've come to make my last appeal. 

And this you cannot slight : 
My wrath, and that of God, you'll feel. 

Before to-morrow night. 
On earth, you've not a faithful friend 

On whom you can rely ; 
Your Father will no comfort lend, 

But turns a scornful eve. 



The Sacred Story. 59 

The mighty hosts of church and state, 

In close accord, conspire, 
To work, on thee, their deadliest hate, 

With torture's lingering fire. 
But death, alone, will not compare 

With vengeance due to sin ; 
A thousand deaths you'll have to bear, 

Ere you salvation win. 

This dread, unutterable, woe. 

You will not — cannot bear ; 
And if you fail, or shrink, you know. 

Your doom will be despair : 
Or if you yield, before you pay 

The utmost farthing due, — 
Or if, for help, you dare to pray, 

There's not a hope for you. 

I see thy soul is fainting, now. 

And can't withstand the flood : 
Great drops of sweat bedew thy brow. 

And fall as clotted blood. 
If just the thought of woe and sin, 

So racks thy soul with pain. 
Then when the real woes begin. 

What shall thy soul sustain! 

Behold yon torch, - there come thy foes, 

Tis Judas leads the band. 
No further offer I'll propose, 

So, give me, now, thy hand. 



60 The Sacred Story. 

You still refuse ? then hear thy doom : 
The threatened woes are thine ! 

To-morrow in the dismal tomb, 
Thy carcass shall recline. 

NARRATIVE. 

He turned, and Jesus, trembling, fell, — 
Unnerved by Satan's poisonous spell ; 
And from the skies, an angel sped. 
Alighted, raised His drooping head, — 
Wiped from His face the cimson gore, 
That freely oozed from every pore, — 
Presents cool water to His lips, 
And gently fans Him, while He sips. 
Erelong, His spirit is restored. 
And thus His grateful prayer is poured : 

THE savior's third PRAYER. 

My Father, Satan's sorcery has failed, 

And all is safe and well, thus far ; 

I'm conqueror at every point assailed. 

And Satan ends his futile war. 
But Lord, I've angry trials yet to bear. 
And punishment that almost brings despair. 
Yet Lord, if there's no way Thy wrath to shun, 
I'll not refuse,— so let Thy will be done! 

EXULTATION : REDEMPTION'S WORK IS NOBLY BEGUN 

Rejoice, He has borne the temptation, — 
The battle with Satan is won ; 

Rejoice, for the hope of salvation, — 
The work has been nobly begun. 



The Sacred Stokv. . 61 

Dear Jesus, the angels are singing, 

And loudly their pleasure proclaim. 

Ah, Satan, thy kingdom is ringing, 
With curses of scorn on thy name. 

Behold the foul Tempter and schemer. 

Who hisses and scowls as he goes ! 
Behold the dear Lord and Redeemer, — 

Whose heel will demolish His foes ! 
The war of Redemption still rages. 

Though Satan has fled from the field : 
This happy beginning presages. 

All foes of the Savior must yield. 

Redemption's grand scheme is unfolding, 

And no one is heedless but man ; 
The angels of God are beholding, 

And learning the wonderful plan ; 
The saints, in their transport, are praising, 

The One above others their Friend ; 
And stars in their courses are gazing. 

On scenes that they can't comprehend. 



62 The Sacred Stoky, 



CHAPTER II.— THE ARREST. 

NARRATIVE. 

And when the Savior rose from prayer, 

He found a band of soldiers there ; 

For Judas had betrayed his Lord, 

And promised for a small reward 

To show his enemies the way, 

To where, at night, the Savior lay. 

How strange, the Lord of boundless might. 

Would bear such shame, and fail to smite. 

With temporal and eternal woes, 

The sordid agent of his foes ! 

'Tis true, a servant lost his ear, 

To let his healing power appear ; 

And as the band moved onward, still, 

He moved them backward by his will. 

But why such scorn and rudeness stand, 

When mighty hosts are at command ! 

But, ah, it was for this He came, 

To bear for man reproach and shame. 

Christ's blood removes my guilty stain, 

But why, or how, I can't explain. 

This truth is older than the flood : 

There's no remission but by blood. 

SACRIFICES. 

How can the blood of beasts, for sin, alone, 

Or human obligations pay ; 
Why do we claim the blood of Christ, alone, 

Can wash the sinner's guilt away ? 
This is a secret that we can't explain ; 

But primal man its truth believed ; 
For, since creation, victims have been slain, 

That pardon might be thus obtained. 



The Sacked Stoky. 63 

The sacrifice denotes the burning ire, 

Jehovah on the sinner turns — 
It represents the fierce, consuming fire, 

That for unpardoned spirits burns. 
But, in the suffering Lamb of God, there's more 

Than other sacrifice could win ; 
For Christ, the great atoning victim, bore 

The grief that's due for every sin. 

NARRATIVE. 

Tlie ]vord was first to Annas brought ; 
Then Caiaphas, the priest, was sought. 
Their schemes were carried out at night, 
For deeds of darkness shun the light. 
A hasty council was convened, 
Though earth was still in shadows screened. 
And witnesses were sought to show 
That Jesus was the people's foe, — 
Though well those wily schemers knew 
The people thought Him good and true. 

THE TRUE CAUSE OF THE ENMITY OF THE PRIESTS. 

The priests, Avith the Lord, were offended, 

Because He rebuked them for pride — 
For substance and truth had contended. 

And forms and traditions denied. 
They feared, if His words were regarded, 

Their tithes and exactions would cease — 
Their priestly demands be discarded, 

And gifts and oblations decrease. 



64 The Sacred Stoky. 

They knew he was blameless and holy, 

And envy grew rank in their souls, — 
They knew He was loved by the lowly. 

And jealousy therefore controls. 
The rule of the priests was in danger, 

Their influence soon would decline. 
Unless they disposed of this stranger, 

Whose miracles proved Him divine. 

NARRATIVE. 

Though many charges were preferred, 
And many witnesses were heard, 
And some, with money, were retained, 
Yet not a charge could be sustained. 
And then, the high-priest questions tried, 
To none of whicli the Lord replied. 
No ground for punishment was known ; 
No crime 'gainst church nr state was shown. 
They counselled long, and questioned more, 
But Christ was silent as before. 
The angry elders were perplexed, 
And Caiaphas was sorely vexed ; 
And turning to the Lord, he cries. 
With frowning brow and flashing eyes ; 
" I swear thee by the God that dwells on high. 
Whose law commands thee, now, to testify, — 
Art thou Messiah, Israel's looked-for King, 
To whom we all must bow, and tribute bring ? " 

The Lord, when thus appealed to, rose, 
And speaks, while every feature glows : 
" Your questions are not legal nor sincere, 
And yet my full, emphatic answer hear : 
I am the long expected Son of God, — 
I am a King, with David's crown and rod ; 



The Sacred Stohy. 65 

Though now in bonds, before your face, I stand. 

You'll see me on my throne, at God's right hand 1 

And when, in majesty and clouds, I come, 

You'll stand with shame, and trembling terror, dumb . 

Before my judgment bar you shall appear, 

And from my lips your condemnation hear." 

THE GREAT CONFESSION — GOD's PLANS. 

That Jesus claimed to be divine, 

His foes no proof could bring, 
Until He favored their design, 

And claimed to be their King. 
This truth — that Christ is God — has proved. 

The great foundation stone, 
On which the church has stood, unmoved, 

In every age and zone. 

And yet this God, supremely good. 

Who made the earth and skies. 
In bonds, before the council, stood. 

And, as a victim, dies ; 
For, by salvation's gracious plan. 

The loving Savior came, 
To suffer for rebellious man, 

And bear his sin and shame. 

The Judge of all the earth is tried 

By sinners, vile and base. 
And minions, viler still, deride. 

And spit upon His face ! 



&Q The Sacked Stoky. 

0, what amazing love was shown, 

By God's Ahnighty Son, 
Whose stripes, for human sins, atone — 

Whose blood salvation won. 

The Savior came to die for man, 

And wicked foes gave aid ; 
Their schemes but consummate His plan. 

Though for his ruin laid. 
The steps they take to thwart His will. 

With His designs accord, 
And vile and wicked men fulfill 

The purpose of the Lord. 

NARRATIVE. 

These words, so like the voice of God, 
The guilty council overawed, 
And, for a time, deep silence reigned, 
Till Caiaphas composure gained ; 
And then, with well feigned rage, he rose. 
And rending, in liis wrath, his clothes : — 
" You've heard his shocking blasphemy," he cried; 
" The witnesses we have, may stand aside ; 

We want no proof where we ourselves have heard ; 

The punishment of death has been incurred. 

He claims as God to rule — as King to reign, 

And every law condemns him to be slain. 

By Moses' code, the bold blasjihemer died ; 

By Roman law, the traitor's crucified-l" 

The Lord, though innocent, was tlien 
Condemned by vile and guilty men; 
And He, that never did a wrong, 
Was scorned and beaten by the throng ; 
And on the way to Pilate's l)ar. 
The fiends the Savior's visage mar. 



The Sacred Story. 67 

the trial. 

The strange and informal proceeding, 

A burlesque on courts may. be shown ; 
For Christ was condemned without heeding 

The rules universally known. 
Against him no charge was presented, 

No witness accused Him of crime. 
And even the stories, invented, 

Though proving no wrong, did not chime. 

The council, in darkness collected : 

Their deeds were not open to light, — 
Thus breaking the law that directed, 

That courts should not meet in the night. 
Though custom and wisdom suspended, 

The sentence of death, for a day, — 
Yet half of that time had not ended, 

Ere Christ in the sepulchre lay. 

The Lord was indeed the Redeemer, — 

And this He could never deny. 
And yet He was found a blasphemer, — 

For truth they condemned Him to die. 
The sentence of death they awarded, 

Their malice and folly betrayed, — 
For 'twas, by themselves, disregarded. 

By going to I'ilate for aid. 



68 The Sacred Story. 



CHAPTER III— PETER'S DENIAL. 

NARRATIVE. 

Before that dark and fearful hour, 
When Jesus felt the Tempter's power, 

He warned those i.ear him, they must pray, 

And guard against temptation's sway. 
" This night, my friends," He said, " you all shall see. 
No faithful one shall dare to stand hy me : 
A man of sorrows, I'll be ciushed with grief, — 
Without a friend for counsel or relief. 
This night of shame and terror shall behold, 
A smitten Shepherd, and an empty fold. 
And when I'm apprehended, you will fly, 
And, unrelieved by sympathy, I'll die." 

And Peter hastily replied. 

With native confidence and pride : 
" My Master, I am mortified to hear. 
Aspersions from the lips of one so dear. 
Do you suppose my love can ever fail, 
Or think you, man or fiend can make me quail! 
Ah, no, a prison can't my love subdue, 
And death, itself, shall yawn, yet I'll be true." 

With like assurances, the rest, 

Their never dying love, expressed. 

But Christ, who knew the heart so well, 

And knew the power of Satan's spell. 
Declared : " This night, dear Peter, you will fall ; 
Before the dawn, you'll be in Satan's thrall ; 
And ere the cock shall sound his clarion, twice, 
Thou shalt in trembling fear, deny me thrice." 

The bold apostle, now, was vexed, — 

His soul was troubled and perplexed : 

It can't be true, he thought, that I, 

My Lord and Master will deny. 

No, no ; the steadfast love, I feel. 

Shall be as strong and firm as steel. 

The fear of man can not subdue, 

A will so firm^a heart so true ! 



The Sacred Stoky. 69 

This, sword, that's girded at my side, 
In human gore, shall first be dyed, — 
These lirabs mnstlie in rigid death, 
And hushed shall be my latest breath, 
Before my Lord shall need a friend, 
Upon whose truth He can depend. 
And if I should my Lord deny. 
Then let me as a felon die, 
Upon a cross of racking woe, — 
My feet above — my head below ! 

Thus pride and vain presumption sway, 
And Peter fails to watch and pray ; — 
And when the band of soldiers wait. 
That night, before the garden gate. 
The bold apostle, sword in hand. 
Went forth, alone, to meet the band, — 
And void of prudence, thought or fear. 
Struck off the high-priest's servant's ear. 
But all at once, his courage died ; 
And he who had the fiends defied, 
Became oppressed with silly fears. 
And quakes at every sound he hears. 
He hides, until the Lord has gone. 
And far behind Him, follows on. 

Peter's fall. 

Rash Peter, the Rock, met defeat, 

Because he neglected to pray ; 
And Satan could sift him like wheat, 

When God took His spirit away. 
But Jesus, the Rock that was greater. 

Through prayer, in His trial was stayed : 
When emptied of strength, as Creator, 

He looked to the Father for aid. 

- 6 — 



70 The Sacred Story. 

The strong, self-sufficient and proud, 

Will spend all their powers in vain. 
While others, less richly endowed. 

Their objects and ends will obtain. 
The race, to the swift, don't belong, — 

For God helps the ailing and weak ; 
The battle is not to the f^trong, 

For God takes the part of the meek. 

NARRATIVE. 

Though Peter had so craven proved, 
He still, by love of Christ, was moved, 
And as a dear and faithful friend. 
Resolved to see and know the end. 
So, at the trial he drew near, 
And chose a place where he could hear. 

A damsel passed, and sternly said, 
*' Are you not one whom Jesus led? " 
And Peter moved by Satan's spell, 
Denied the Lord he loved so well. 
And, presently, the recreant heard. 
The warning of the crowing bird. 
His soul was pierced and sorely moved ; 
He felt degraded and reproved. 
And, therefore, sought a darker place. 
That none might look upon his face. 

But soon, another maid drew near, 
And filled, again, his soul with fear: 
^' Art thou," she asked, " the prisoner's friend, 
Come forth his trial to attend? " 
But Peter, frail and spellbound, still, 
Gave way, again, to Satan's will, 
And, falsely and profanely, swore, 
^' I never saw the man before." 

While Peter, yet, was watching, near, — 
Could see the Lord, and all things hear. 



The Sacred Stoky. 71 

The servants make the charge, again, 

And loudly, some of them complain. 

One said, " thou art from Galilee, — 

Thy dialect bewrayeth thee ; " 

Another said, '"I saw thee stand, 

This very night, amidst His band." 

More fierce, and ruder than before, 

And more profanely, Peter swore, — 

Declaring " that the man they named, 

Had never as his lord been claimed." 

Just then, the bird tHat wakes the morn. 

Poured forth again his clarion horn. 

Then Peter's memory claimed its own, 

And conscience found, once more, its throne. 

He felt degraded and abased. 

His honor lost, and name disgraced: 

And turning with despai'ing eye, 

He caught the Savior's yearning eye. 

With trt-pidation and amaze. 

He shrunk from that reproachful gaze, 

And in a dark and private place, 

Fell prostrate on his rueful face, 

A.nd while the tears in torrents roll, 

In prayer, relieves his burdened soul. 

Peter's prayer. 

My Savior and Lord, T have forfeited favor; 

I'm now a poor wretch, undeserving of grace, 
I thought, before mortals I never would waver, 

And Satan, himself, I was ready to face. 
When Judas, the traitor, came forth to the garden, 

And basely betrayed, to His foes, the dear Lord, 
I thought him a fiend, undeserving of pardon, — 

A wretcji that should always be scorned and abhorred. 



72 The Sacred Story. 

I struck but one blow, and my courage betrayed me, 

And, filled with dismay, I escaped from the place ; 
And now both my conscience and reason upbraid me, 

And tell me, that Judas was never so base. 
0, Master, with pity and mercy regard me ; 

Thy servant, before Thee, in reverence bows ; 
0, do not, my Savior, in anger discard me. 

But turn a kind ear to my penitent vows. 

My life is a burden — I wish it were ended ; • 

For I can be happy and useful no more ! 
But no, I must live for the Lord I've offended, 

And life's not sufficent His rights to restore. 
I fervently love Him, and humbly adore Him ; — 

Then why did I falsely deny my best Friend I 
I'll make my whole life an oblation before Him, 

And praise shall as incense forever ascend. 

He called me a rock, and commended my daring ; 

But oh, on my trial, how sadly I failed ! 
I told what was false, and upheld it by swearing, 

And, scared by a maid, I disgracefully quailed. 
I knew not my weakness, until I was tested ; 

Self-confidence brought this disgrace on my name ! 
I trusted my strength, and in prayer never rested ; 

And hence my transgression, disaster and shame. 

I'll crucify strength, and will boast of my weakness, 
And gather my help at the altar of prayer : 

I'll humble my pride, and will cultivate meekness. 
And always to Jesus for counsel repair. 



The Sacred Story. 73 

I know He's Messiah, and yet IVe denied Him ! 

Henceforth be my mission to honor His name ! 
I'll stand before councils, and kings that deride Him, 

His cause to uphold, and His word to proclaim ! 

MEDITATION : PETER's FALL. 

Though Peter was always regarded, 

As faithful, decided and true, — 
Though Jesus in honor accorded 

To Peter the keys, as his due, — 
Yet he was the first in transgression, — 

Fell deepest, and furtherest strayed, — 
Because in his strength and discretion, 

He asked of God's spirit no aid. 

But Peter, thereafter promoted. 

Worked boldly for Jesus, his Lord ; 
His life to His cause was devoted, 

With hope of no earthly reward. 
He died as a saint and a martyr. 

And stretched out his hands on a cross, — 
He would not his loyalty barter. 

For life, with its tinsel and dross. 



74 The Sacked Story. 

CHAPTER IV.— JESUS BEFORE PILATE. 

NARRATIVE. 

The Jewish council, at that day, 
Condemned, but had no power to slay. 
For only Roman rulere, then. 
Could take, by law, the lives of men. 
To Pilate, therefore, Christ was sent, 
And with Him priests and rabble went. 
They planned the Lord to crucify, 
That ile might as a felon die. 
And as they went to Pilate's court. 
The Lord was buffeted for sport. 

CRUCIFIXION. 

Alas, how cruel and depraved, 

Were Christ's fanatical tormentors ! 
I see upon their hearts, engraved, 

The words, " Here mercy never enters." 
With cruelty, His death was planned, 

And common justice was denied Him; 
And to affix a felon's brand. 

They taunted, scourged and crucified Him. 

They craved a slow and painful death, 

And choose the cross, as that most trying, — 
To triumph in His gasping breath. 

And wag their heads, while he was dying. 
No death can with the cross compare. 

In racking pain and aching anguish; 
So, Christ was made its pangs to bear. 

And on its nails in torment languish. 



The Sacred Story. 75 

narrative. 

The crowd, with Jesus, stood before, 

But would not enter, Pilate's door. 

They feared, though full, themselves, of guile, 

The touch of gentiles would defile. 

EFFRONTERY. 

Now, here is impudence sublime, 

From which we turn, with wrath and loathing : ' 
That men unparalelled in crime, 

Should fear the touch of gentile clothing ! 
These wretches steeped in blood and sin, 

And black with guilt, and foul with meanness, 
See not their putrid hearts, within, 

But loathe the touch of mere unclean ness. 

NARRATIVE. 

When Pilate heard the noisy call. 
He met the priests without the hall, 
And learned the charges that they bring : 
That Jesus claimed to be a king, 
And urged the people to refuse 
To pay to C;esar rates and dues. 

WHY CHRIST WAS CONDEMNED. 

The council, by their verdict, found. 

That Jesus was a vile blasphemer ; 
And this was based upon the ground. 

He claimed to be the world's Redeemer. 
But Romans never interfered 

With men's religious obligations ; 
But rights of conscience were revered, 

In all the subjugated nations. 



76 The Sacred Story. 

And therefore, when the Jews appear 

Before the Roman procurator, 
The only charge we plainly hear. 

Is that the Lord's a noted traitor. 
But Jesus had sustained the laws, 

And Jews disliked Him for that reason. 
And knew full well they had no cause 

For having him condemned for treason. 

The Savior's death the Jews decree, 

Because His purity they hated. 
And Pilate, though from malice free. 

And thought Him just, yet vacillated. 
But when the crowd grew fierce and strong. 

And charged the judge, himself, with treason; 
He gave consent, and did the wrong ; — 

But for his sentence, gave no reason. 

NARRATIVE. 

When all the charges had been learned, 

The ruler to his hall returned, 
And questioned, there, the Lord : " Art thou a King? 
Must Greek and Jew to Thee their tribute bring? " 
The Lord, with solemn dignity, replied: 
" I am a King — my endless realm is wide : 
I came to rule the human heart and soul, 
But leave their civiV rights to man's control. 
My realm is from nbove, and nut of earth ; 
It is of peaceful and of heavenly birth ; 
Or else my servants would have foughl for me, 
And I would not, this day, be brought to thee." 



The Sacred Story. 77 

god and c.^5sar — church and state. 

The conscience by Christ, as it's King, is directed ; 

To rule the affections and heart is His aim. 
The Lord, in the soul, has His kingdom erected, — 

While Caesar the magistrate's office may claim. 
This truth, that He spake, has been freedom's foundation — 

For better or surer in vain do we search : 
It gives to the ruler, the rights of the nation, 

And grants to the elder, the rights of the church. 

In matters of conscience, the state don't control me ; — 

Tis only when others of wrong can complain. 
And though on the books of the church you enroll me. 

It can not inflict on me bodily pain. 
The sword and the crook are the symbols to teach us, — 

That 'rulers may drive, but the Shepherds must draw : 
The crook of the Shepherd in kindness will reach us, 

But rulers, in wrath, bear the sword of the law. 

THE CHURCH - THE GOSPEL. 

Jesus in the gospel gave us. 

His great charter for our race. 
He intends, by it, to save us. 

From perdition and disgrace. 
Though not half mankind believe it. 

Yet that gospel shall prevail, — 
And all nations shall receive it. 

And be brought within the pale. 



78 The Sacred Story. 

This great charter was not wrested, 

From the Lord's unwilling hands ; 
But His loving heart suggested, 

Free Salvation for all lands. 
Though a boon for us intended, 

And secured by tears and sighs; 
Yet, we often turn, offended, 

And reject the glorious prize. 

See, His star, with light increasing, 

Rises in the morning sky : 
Knowledge growing — darkness ceasing — 

Clouds of superstition fly. 
Christ, himself, with saints descending. 

Soon shall make the earth His throne, 
And his power and grace extending, 

All the world His sway shall own. 

Christ's kingdom. 

There is a kingdom from above — 

A throne that time can never crumble:. 
'Tis built on truth, its law is love. 

And all its subjects meek and humble. 
That kingdom stands from age to age. 

Though by no arm of flesh defended ; 
And yet, in spite of Satan's rage, 

Its limits, yearly, are extended. 
That kingdom's the stone that is cut without hands. 
That bears all before it, subverting the nations, 



The Sacred Story. 79 

Converting the people and blessing all lands, 

And goes on increasing through all generations. 

Immanuel marshals the sanctified hosts ; 

The ensign of peace is the fiag that waves o'er them ; 

The army of Satan derisively boasts, . 

But melts, as the dews of the morning, before them. 

NARRATIVE. 

Then Pilate spoke and told the throng, 
He found in Jesus nothing wrong. 
But priests and rabble louder cried, 
The rebel must be crucified ; 
He preached sedition far and near, 
In Galilee, as well as here. 

When Pilate heard of Galilee, 
He said it would his duty be. 
To let the ruler of that land, 
Adjudicate the case in hand 
To Herod, therefore, Christ was sent : 
His persecutors also went, 
And there arraigned the Lord, anew. 
On charges futile and untrue. 
These charges, Christ in silence heard, 
And answered Herod not a word. 

THE SILENCE OF JESUS. 

When facing His judges, His silence was golden : 

The Lamb in the toils of His shearers was dumb 
So let His example His people embolden. 

To suffer in silence whatever may come. 
The Lord, in His passion, displayed resignation, 

Was patient, long suffering, silent and calm : 
These traits have secured Him the world's admiration, 

And justly have won Him the name of The Lamb. 



80 The Sacred Story. 

The Lord could have shown every charge was ungrounded ; 

But he had long purposed, to die at this time. 
And judge and accusers, themselves, were confounded, 

By finding no proof nor presumption of crime. 
Suppose, that instead of His silence and meekness, 

The Savior the charges had loudly assailed : 
Then foes would believe He was conscious of weakness. 

And even Redemption itself might have failed. 

NARRATIVE. 

The king was angrj' and allowed, 
The soldiers, and the motley crowd. 
To treat the Son of God with shame. 
And cast contempt upon His name. 
But Herod, though to Christ unkind, 
Could nothing hurtful in Him find : 
But, still, in mockery and spite, 
He dressed the Lord in spotless white, 
And sent him back to Pilate's place, 
That he might hear and judge the case. 
These rulers had been bitter foes. 
But, from this day, their wranglings close. 
The presence of the Prince of Peace, 
Perhaps, commands their wrath to cease. 

RECONCILIATION. 

Two scoffers, though hating and loathing each other, 

Convince us that Christ is more deeply abhorred. 
Against him they join as a brother with brother, 

And friendship results from the war on the Lord ; 
To reconcile men, was the Savior's great mission ; 

This boon, to the good and the bad, he extends ; 
And though He was scorned, yet he healed the division, 

Twixt Pilate and Herod, and joined them as friends. 



The Sacred Story. 81 

narrative. 

Again they meet at Pilate's door; 

The crowd is noisy as before ; 

But Pihite thinks, — indeed is sure, 

That Christ is innocent and pure ; 

And speaking to the boisterous crowd, 

His clear convictions thus avowed : 
'The ill used man, that you have brought to me, 
Is innocent end just, and should be free. 
There's nothing wrong or dangerous in his life. 
His teachings do not lead to war and stiife: 
And Herod, who has heard the charges, too, 
Eegards the man as harmless, good, and true. 
And now, I think my sentence ought to be. 
That Jesus be chastised, and then set free. 
But since I must release to you, this day, 
A prisoner, — whomsoever you may say, — 
I now suggest that Jesus be released, 
According to the custom of the feast: 
Or will you give Barabbas that relief, — 
That noted traitor, murderer, and thief?" 



PILATE AS A JUDGE. 

Ah, Pilate, how deep in disgrace you descended ! 

You knew He was faultless, yet would not acquit. 
You scourge the dear Lord,— even Him you commended ; 

The vilest offense that a judge could commit! 
We know that you wished to deliver the Savior ; 

And this, as a judge, t'was your duty to do : 
But all of mankind have condemned your behavior, 

In scourging and hanging the man you found true. 



82 The Sacred Story. 

narrative. 

Now Pilate hoped the Lord to save, 
And in His place proposed a knave, 
That if they should the Lord refuse, 
They must a noted traitor choose. 
For envy moved them, as was plain. 
To have the honored Teacher slain. 
But, prompted by the priests and scribes. 
And moved by promises and bribes, 
The rabble cried with swelling voice, 
" Barabbas is the people's choice." 
Then Pilate asked the mob, again, 
" What of your King — must he be slain ? " 

To this, the mob, as prompted, cried, 
" Yea, let the wretch be crucified " 
Still Pilate knew not what to do. 
The man, he thought, is good and true ; 
But he must heed the people's cries, 
For fear a tumult might arise 
But while perplexed with doubt and fear, 
A hasty messenger drew near. 
And told him that his wife had sent him there, 
To beg he would the holy Teacher spare, — 
That she had dreamed, and spirit voices warned, 
That Christ « as good and great, though now so scorned. 
And she advised the holy man's release ; 
For she believed he w:ks the Prince of Peace. 

WIVES AND THEIR COUNSELS. 

When men for His slaughter were shouting, 

T'was woman that begged for His life. 
While Pilate was shuffling and doubting, 

How noble and true was his wife ! 
0, why are her warnings, so often, 

Subjected to scorn and neglect : 
Her counsels ennoble and soften, 

And, nine times in ten, are correct. 



The Sacred Story. 

Pilate's wife's dream. 

I stood on Salem's wall, and saw 

The soldiers crucify a stranger ; 
The scene impressed my soul with awe, 

And warned me of impending danger. 
And as He hung upon the tree, 

'Mid crowds of scoffers from the city, 
I thought He turned His eyes on me, 

And spoke in tones of love and pity : 

" Your husband found in me no wrong ; 

And yet he every right denied me ; 
He yielded to a heartless throng. 

And scourged, condemned and crucified me. 
On him will rest the curse of God ; 

But you shall know my gracious power ; 
Jerusalem shall feel my rod. 

And at my bar. my foes shall cower." 

He saved a contrite dying thief, 

While Scribes and Pharisees derided. 
And proved His power to bring relief 

To all who in His grace confided. 
Grim darkness on the land was spread. 

Until I heard " Tis finished " spoken ; 
An earthquake raged, — the darkness fled, — 

And then, it seemed, my dream was broken. 



84 The Sacred Story. 

I dreamed again : Beside a lake, 

My wretched husband sat despairing ; 
And thus he spoke : " With fears I quake, 

And sink beneath the woes I'm bearing. 
My guilty hands are stained with blood, 

And death alone can quell my anguish! 
I'll drown me, in this dismal flood ; 

For how can I in misery languish ! " * 

He plunged beneath the stifling tide ; 

But death was not a tranquil pillow ; 
For yearly since that Stranger died, 

He lifts his head above the billow. 
And chafes his hands, to purge the stains. 

And wash away his fatal error ; 
But when he finds the blood remains. 

He sinks, again, with shrieks of terror. 

, Again, I dreamed : And Salem's walls 

With Roman legions were invested : 
With fire and sword the city falls. 

And on the people vengeance rested. 
Gaunt famine and contagion rode 

Where putrid heaps of dead were lying. 
And pestilence, in mercy, strode 

Among the doomed, to haste their dying. 

* Tradition informs us that Pilate's wife became a Christian; but he, him- 
self, died a pagan. He is said to have drowned himself iu the dark waters of 
the Lake Lucerne ; and the neighboring peasants, at this day, aver, that he rises- 
every anniversary of Christ's crucifixion, and goes through the ceremony of 
trying to wash the blood from his hands; and failing in this, he sinks with a 
shriek. 



The Sacred Story. 85 

I dreamed again : A great white throne 

Appeared, surrounded by all nations. 
That Stranger was the judge, alone, 

Of earth in all its generations. 
My husband on the left hand seemed ; 

He trembled, and his tears were streaming. 
I heard the word "Depart; " — I screamed, 

And rose to find that I was dreaming. 

Pilate's meditations. 
O, who is this man, of such grandeur and beauty 
O guide me, ye gods, in the pathway of duty ! 
No man I have seen, has so strangely impressed me; 
He looked like a god when he calnd}" addressed me ; 
His eye is with love and intelligence beaming ; 
His voice is the music I hear when I'm dreaming ; 
No lamb is more spotless that feeds on the mountain 
No rose is so lovely, that blooms by the fountain. 
The dream of my wife, is a warning of danger; 
And how can I live, if I :ixurder this stranger! 
But priests and the people have brought him for trial ; 
They thirst for his blood, and will take no denial : 
The cries of the rabble the heavens are rending ; 
A tumult is gathering, a storm is impending; 
Tlijy pardon Barabbas, the vilest of creatures, 
And crucify Jesus, the purest of teachers. 
And if I deny them, I look for sedition. 
And Rome will recall me, and break my commission. 
No sin in the emperor's eye would be greater, 
Than shielding a king, or releasing a traitor. 



86 The Sacred Story. 

They ofifer no witness — no proof is presented ; 

The charges are false, and by malice invented ; 

His wisdom appears through his silence and meekness; 

He scorns all the charges, because of their weakness. 

I'm almost convinced that for death he is praying, 

And if I condemn him, his will I'm obeying. 

His death must be charged to the schemers who planned it ; 

The guilt of his blood be on those who demand it ! 

NARRATIVE. 

Then Pilate stepped without, once more, 
And asked the rabble as before : 
" Shall I release to you this man, — your king; 
Or shall I from his ja^l Barabbas bring ? " 
The boisterous crowd with frenzy cry, 
'' We all prefer that Jesus die." 

BARABBAS AND JESUS. 

Barabbas and Jesus ! Consider the twain, 
And tell me why Jesus, the sinless, was slain ! 
The one was a robber, detested and feared. 
The other was righteous, beloved and revered : 
Barabbas a demon, convicted and chained, 
And Christ who as God from eternity reigned. 
Barabbas a rebel and foe to his race. 
And Jesus, Redeemer and Author of Grace. 
They call Him a traitor, and therefore He's slain ; 
But pardon Barabbas whose treason was plain. 

" This man is a traitor," the multitude cry ; 

" Let rebels to Cajsar, in infamy die ; " 
And yet the same voices pronounce the decree, 
To let the arch-traitor, Baral)bas, go free : 



The Sacred Story. 87 

When Pilate submitted the two to the Jews, 
The Good they reject, and a murderer choose! 
But be not too hasty their sin to condemn, 
For Christ is rejected by us, as by them ! 

NARRATIVE. 

Then Pilate said again : " I've sougiit, but found, 
No evidence on which His guilt to ground." 
But still in louder, sterner voice they cried, 
" Release him not — let him be crucified ! 
You can not claim King Cesar's friend to be. 
Yet turn a vile and well known traitor free." 

" THOU ART NOT C.^SAR's FRIEND." 

These words decided Pilate's course ; 

Though far away, he looked to Rome ; 
For favor, there, had far more force. 

Than duty's claims possessed at home. 
His conscience spoke in still, small voice. 

And justice thundered in his ear; 
But policy controlled his choice, 

And Christ was sacrificed to fear. 

The Lord, as king, professed to reign, 

Yet here, on earth, claimed no command ; 
But who could such a realm explain. 

And make a Roman understand? 
His worldly nature, Pilate shows, 

And gives no heed to duty's call, — 
And, to his lust for office, owes. 

His sad mistake and wretched falL 



The Sacred Story. 



NARRATIVE. 



Then Pilate in their presence stands, 
And taking water, washed his hands, 

Remarking: " This abhition signifies, 

That I am innocent, if Jesus dies ; 

His blood be on your guilty heads, alone; 

My hands are clean, the cruel deed's your own! " 

PILATE WASHING HIS HANDS. 

In Christ we safely put our trust, 

And of His innocence are sure ; 
For Pilate found Him good and just, 

And washed his hands, to prove Him pure. 
In hanging one of good report, 

Whom he had found was free from guile, 
We see a prostituted court, — 

A judge unprincipled and vile! 

The blood with which his hands were stained, 

If to a contrite heart applied. 
Would perfect purity have gained, 

With endless life, through Him who died. 
He gave more heed to man than God, 

And idly rode upon the flood. 
Till in his path grim Vengeance trod. 

And bathed her dagger in his blood. 

NARRATIVE. 

The multitude — a living tide, 

In deep, sepulchral tones, replied : 
*'May every woe that's due for this m^n's blood. 
Descend on us, in overwhelming fiood ! 
And may his gore our children's conscience stain, 
If by our voice, the innocent is slain." 



The Sacred Story. 89 

the imprecation. 
How little the priests and the rabble regarded 

The curse they invoked on their nation that day ! 
But soon it was shown that the Lord had discarded 

The city and people, on which the curse lay. 
For blood was demanded of that generation, 

And millions fell lifeless in city and plain ; 
The eagles of Rome, on the corse of the nation, 

Were gathered like vultures that feed on the slain. 

The curse has pursued them, far down through the ages ; 

Their annals are written with blood from their veins : 
The gore of their torture stains history's pages. 

And still on their children God's vengeance remains. 
Their people are driven from nation to nation, — 

For curses attach to the name of the Jew ; 
Their land is a region of sad desolation, — 

A byword and hissing, for all that pass through ! 

NARRATIVE. 

The threats and clamor gained the day, 
And Pilate gave the mob their way. 
And thus, it seems, the same decree, 
Condemns the just— the vile sets free, — 
Barabbas from his dungeon flies. 
And Jesus as a felon dies. 

THE SUBSTITUTE. 

How strange is the power the gospel possesses, — 

When Christ's condemnation sets free the depraved ! 

How strange is the law that the man that transgresses. 
By sufferings borne by another, is saved ! 



90 The Sacred Story. 

The case of Barabbas was given to teach us, 

A truth that the Lord did not choose to explain ; 

That Christ by atonement and pardon can reach us, 
Though hope of redemption, from others, is vain. 

The Father with mercy and love can esteem us, 

By casting on Jesus the debt that we owe ; 
The Savior from prison and death can redeem us, 

By bearing, for us, condemnation and woe ; 
For He was the Seed of the woman predicted, — 

The Lamb that was slaughtered, our sorrows to bear 
For us He was smitten — for us was afflicted, 

That we might be saved from the pit of despair. 

NARRATIVE. 

And then, with cruel lash and rod, 
The soldiers scourged the Son of God I 
And He that made the earth and sky, 
Endured the shame without a sigh. 

THE SCOURGING. 

The Savior's cruel scourging must have tried. 

His patience, more than other things endured; 
And if He'd been but man, with wrath and pride, 

Resentment would have made His fall assured. 
But we rejoice that He was also God, 

With resignation, more than men reveal, — 
And bore the stripes of galling lash and rod. 

To save the soul and man's pollutions heal. 



The Sacred Story. 91 

These vile, deluded wretches did not know, 

That every stripe upon His shoulders laid. 
Redeemed a soul from wrath and endless woe, — 

A captive freed and his redemption paid. 
Let every sinner know the pain it cost. 

His guilty soul, from burning wrath, to screen ; 
And let him be in grateful wonder lost, 

In contemplation of the awful scene. 

NARRATIVE. 

The Savior, then, by mortals scorned, 
Was with a purple robe adorned : 
For crown — a wreath of thorns He Vvore, — 
For mace — a flimsy reed He bore. 
The soldiers and the impious crowd 
Upon their knees in mockery bowed, 
And cried : " All hail, thou Jewish King! 
To Thee, we gifts and homage bring! " 
And some brought on themselves disgrace. 
By spitting on His holy face. 

The Romans mock and jeer within, — 
The Jews without keep up the dm. 
Till to the front the soldiers bring, 
The Lord, appareled as a King ; 
And as He on the pavement stands. 
His presence sympathy commands. 
The crowd, subdued, suppressed their cries, 
And on the sufferer fixed their eyes ; 
And heard the voice of Pilate ring, 
" Behold the man — salute your King I " 

BEHOLD THE MAN ! 

Behold the Man ! -though still He's God ! 

Turn not your faces from the scene ; 
The blood, from cruel thorn and rod. 

Has marred the Savior's heavenly mien. 



92 The Sacred Story. 

A man of sorrows —whelmed with grief! 

His garments dyed with hallowed blood ! 
No tender hand affords relief, 

Nor kindly stays the purple flood. 

Behold the Man ! He feels the rod, 

For man's transgressions through all time. 
It is the man, and not the God, 

That bleeds and suffers for my crime. 
His human soul, and tender heart, 

Were touched and moved by human tears; 
And since, in flesh He felt the smart, 

In flesh, on high, he still appears 

" THE THREE ROBES." 

Three typical garments were worn on that morning : — 

As prophet, as priest, and as king, they were worn : 
A prophet's knit robe was His person adorning, 

Until before Herod the Savior was borne. 
And there in pure white, as a priest they arrayed Him, 

Then changed it for purple —the robe of a King. 
How strange that the mockers, who aimed to degrade Him, 

The honors deserved, should unwittingly bring ! 

O, Prophet of God, let Thy mantle invest me, 

With wisdom to walk in the way that is right : 

0, Priest of the Lord, when I wander, arrest me. 

And cover my sin with Thy vestment of white ; 



The Sacred Story. 93 

0, King of all Kings, in rich purple adorn me, 

And clothe me in raiment Thy blood has made pure ; 

And though I am sinful Thy Father won't scorn me ; 
But clothed in Thy robe, I'll His favor secure. 

NARRATIVE. 

The Savior's attitude was meek ; 

The thorns had pierced His brow and cheek ; 

The purple w'helks, upon His sides. 

Sent down a score of crimson tides. 

Aggrieved, maltreated and forlorn, 

He called for pity — not for scorn. 

And yet the busy priests and scribes 

Were offering promises and bribes ; 

And when the crowd had learned their plan, 

They shouted : " Crucify the Man ! " 
But Pilate asked : " Why will you crucify, 
A worthy man who don't deserve to die ? 
Why will you clamor for the blood of one, 
You can not say has wrong or mischief done ? " 

But louder yet the rabble cried, 
" No ! no ! let him be crucified ! " 

The swaying crowd grew noisier still, 

And Pilate yielded to their will. 

CRUCIFY HIM. 

The crowd that yesterday, " Hosanna " cried, 
Demands to day that Christ be crucified ; 
And yet to save such wretches, Jesus died, — 

The Lamb of God, by saints expected. 
This wicked cry is made by men who hold 
The law of God and prophecies of old, 
In whicli the coming Savior is foretold. 

And by His own should be rejected. 



94 The Sacred Story. 

These people were the Lord's ; but how depraved ! 
By Satan's galling chains, they were enslaved ! 
Yet thousands of this race were changed and saved, 

With wondrous power, a few days later. 
The Lord's compassion reaches even those. 
Who are His worst and most determined foes : 
And though the mighty powers of hell oppose, 

The strength of grace and love is greater. 

NARRATIVE. 

The purple robe the Savior wore, 

Was changed to that he had before, 

And, by the cross of torture, bowed 

He struggled through the hooting crowd. 

And He that never did a wrong, 

Was jeered and goaded by the throng. 

THE DOLOROUS WAY — VEKONICA — THE WANDERING JEW. 

The man of sorrows treads the way of sighs ; 
The cross upon His wounded shoulders lies ; 
Beneath its weight His head and body bow ; 
A bloody sweat has gathered on His brow ; 
The gore upon His holy face appeared. 
And hung, in crimson drops, upon His beard. 
His haggard features tell of toil and pain, 
And yet the suflfering Lord does not complain. 

A maiden, whom, Veronica they name. 
In pity saw, and in compassion came. 
And while the tears roll down her lovely cheeks. 
Her sympathizing heart in action speaks : 
" I'll wipe Thy brow," the maiden gently said ; 
And as the Savior sighed and raised His head, 



The Sacred Story, 95 

Her snow-white napkin on His face was laid, 

And lo, the picture of the Lord was made. 

The cloth, with bloody face and thorn pierced brow, 

Has been preserved, as millions think, till now ; 

And he, who can his faith in relics place. 

May see the Savior's weary, blood-stained face. 

The fainting Sufferer, by the cross oppressed. 
Before a shop, a moment, stopped for rest ; 
But forth the shopman came, and with a blow. 
Reviled the patient Lord, and bade Him go. 
The Sufferer turned, and thus in pity spoke : 
" For ages, thou shalt mourn that cruel stroke : 
For till my second coming, thou shalt roam, 
And find no rest, no country, and no home." 
That curse remains : The wandering Jew can claim, 
No peace, no king, no nation, and no name. 
And all his people shall be homeless, too. 
Till Christ's appearance, — like the Wandering Jew. 

NARRATIVE. 

But Pilate found a private place, 
And falling prone upon his face, 
And growing frantic witli desjiair, 
Poured forth his soul in anguisli there. 

Pilate's soliloquy. 

No mortal was ever so compassed with dangers ; 
For Salem is crowded with millions of strangers ; 
A word from the priests would set all in commotion ; 
The tribes would arise, as a storm on the ocean, 



96 The Sacred Story. 

And scatter my soldiers as leaves on the waters, — 
And woe to Jerusalem's yeomen and daughters! 
And here in the city, mid heaps of the dying, 
All lifeless and rigid, my corse would be lying ; 
Or if I was spared, a worse fate I might ponder, — 
To die by the sword, or in exile to wander, 

'Tis true I've averted so grave an affliction ; 
But conscience revolts at this man's crucifixion. 
Through envy they called Him a knave and blasphemer ;. 
And yet I believe Him the Jewish redeemer. 
His face is with matchless intelligence glowing ; 
His soul is with kindness and love overflowing ; 
I felt I was guilty, when standing before Him ; 
He looks like a God, and I fain would adore Him ! 
No evidence showed that the man had offended ; 
His life and His teaching, by all are commended ; 
I feel I'm a wretch who, in trembling and weakness. 
Have murdered this man, in his pureness and meekness^ 
The guilt of my rash and iniquitous sentence. 
Can never be covered by death or repentence. 

A CONTRAST ; PILATE's COURT, AND THE FINAL JUDGMENT. 

Behold the God, that made the earth and skies, 

In flesh, at Pilate's bar appears ; 
He's there condemned and, like a felon, dies. 

Amid His creatures' taunts and jeers. 
See, Caiaphas derides with priestly scorn ! 

Behold contempt on Pilate's face ! 
Then look on Jesus, humble and forlorn, 

Aggrieved and slain, to save our race 



The Sacred Story. 97 

But ah, there is another Judgment Day, 

When God all secrets will unfold ; 
And there shall Pilate stand, in blank dismay, 

And Christ, his righteous Judge, behold. 
How strange, that He who as a felon died, 

Should life and majesty resume, — 
And He whom wicked men had crucified. 

Should be their Judge, and speak their doom ! 




98 The Sacred Story 



CHAPTER v.— JUDAS. 

NARRATIVE. 

Thou base betrayer of my Lord, 
How can my pen thy shame record I 
And yet for Judas, many claim. 
As much of pity as of blame. 

The Master knew his sordid heart, 
Yet, would not bid thf knave depart, 
But made him almoner, and gave, 
The grace to heal, and power to save. 
At length the tempter, Satan, came. 
And fanned his avarice into flame ; 
And through the devil's fatal spell, 
The weak, deluded servant fell. 
And though he loved the Lord, and knew. 
That He was holy, just and true. 
Yet, honor, faith and love gave way, 
To Mammon's strong, unbridled sway. 

The priests from envy, lust and pride, 
The Savior's sacred claims denied ; 
But common people, homage, bring, 
And claim him for their promised King. 
His words, with wisdom were endued. 
And charmed the listening multitude. 
The priests and rulers therefore, fear, 
To seize Him, when a crowd is near, 
And offer favor and reward. 
To Judas to betray his Lord. 

THE COMMON PEOPLE HEARD HIM GLADLY. 

The plotters knew well that the people regarded, 
The Savior with love and delight, 

And therefore, was Judas, the traitor, rewarded. 
To show where He rested at night. 



The Sacred Story. 99 

By day, in the city, while friends were around Him, 
They dared not their hands, on Him, lay. 

So, deep in the shadows of midnight, they found Him, 
And silently bore Him away. 

The Lord was the friend of the low and afflicted ; 

His blessing He gave to the meek : 
He preached to the poor, as the prophets predicted. 

And only the lost, would He seek. 
The priests and the rulers, who thought themselves holy. 

Indignantly turned from His word. 
But such as were penitent, humble and lowly. 

Most gladly believed what they heard. 

The Lord made His home with the downcast and humble, — 

Was loved by the poor and forlorn, — 
But priests, in their folly and arrogance, stumble. 

And treat the Redeemer with scorn. 
And so it has ever been, down through the ages, 

The meek have been friends of the Lord ; 
And often the fools, who have claimed to be sages, 

On Christ and His people have warred. 

NARRATIVE. 

The bribe is taken, and he shows. 
His blessed Master to His foes. 
By him, the plot and scheme were laid, 
To seize the Lord in Kidron's glade ; 
For nightly there, as Judas knew, 
The Lord, for prayer and rest, withdrew : 
And to that dark secluded glen, 
Came Judas, with a band of men, 



100 The Sacred Storv. 

Who, when the Lord had come from prayer, 
Demanded whether He was there : 
The Savior answered : "I am he ; 
Why come with staves and swords for me ? " 
But that the band might have no doubt, 
And Christ be plainly pointed out. 
The men were by the dastard taught, 
That he would kiss the man they sought. 
So when they met, the Lord was shown. 
And, by a traitor's kiss made known. 
The Lord's reply was only this : 
" Dost thou betray me with a kiss ? " 

THE KISS OF JUDAS. 

I've often wondered how the Lord. 

Endured the traitor's treacherous kiss ; 
For nothing's half so much abhorred, 

As base hypocrisy, like this. 
The mild and kind rebuke He gave, 

Displayed a meekness all divine; — 
At least His patience with the knave, 

Surpasses, widely, yours and mine. 

NARRATIVE. 

But Judas mingled with the throng, 
That bore the pinioned Lord along, 
And saw him buffeted and bound, — 
Condemned, and then in mockery crowned: 
He heard the maddened rabble cry, 

" Upon the cross let Jesus die ! " 
He thought he heard his moans and sighs, 
And met the Lord's reproachful eyes. 
He fancied Jesus spoke his name. 
And heard Him from the cross exclaim : 

"Though you have murdered me, this day. 
Your sins mav yet be washed away ! " 



The Sacred Stouy. 101 

With quick, determined step, he turned : 

One purpose in his bosom burned ; 
" I must," he said, " my crime undo ; " 

Then wildly to the temple flew, 

And there, before the priests, displayed. 

The silver for his treason paid : 
"Let not, for this vile coin," he said, 
"The blood of innocence be shed; 

So take the money, and restore 

My guiltless Lord to me, once more." 

The priests observed him with disdain. 

And would not take the coin again : 

So Judas left the silver, there, 

And wandered forth, he knew not where. 

We find him next in Tophet's vale, 

And hear his wild despairing wail. 

THE WAIL OF JUDAS. 

Alas ! I'm a wretch undeserving of pity ; 

The dearest of masters for lucre I sold ! 
He dies on the cross that he bore from the city, 

And guilt rends my bosom with anguish untold ! 
His eyes are upon me ; — or am I but dreaming ! 

My crime is the sin that he never forgives ! 
The sword of the ruthless avenger is gleaming, 

And conscience will gall me while memory lives. 

Why did I betray him ! What frenzy possessed me ! 

My master was ever so patient and kind ! 
How tender his words, when he softly caressed me ! 

How richly was sweetness with wisdom combined ! 
Why did I betray him! Ye seraphim, tell me! 

No lamb for the altar was purer than he! 
0, why did I do it! Did Satan impel me? 

I say not, but know that my actions were free. 

— 7 — 



102 The Sacreu Story. 

With loathing and horror I look on my treason, 

And wonder what made m3 so heartless and base. 
In vain do I seek for an adequate reason, 

For marring my life, by such guilt and disgrace. 
Remorse fills my soul: — I am homeless and friendless' 

Like Cain, I must wander in fear of my life! 
The blot on my name will be deadly and endless : 

And blast all the hopes of my children and wife. 

My Master knew all, for the prophets foretold it; 

And even my treason and ruin they trace; 
And therefore I die, for the Scriptures unfold it, 

^And all my descendants shall sink in disgrace. 
Now nothing is left that is worth the possessing; 

On earth I have neither a patron nor friend. 
And death, to the vile and disgraced, is a blessing; 

And therefore, I'll bring my sad life to an end. 

My life is a sacrifice due at his altar ; 

My death may the bane of my treason undo : 
All ages shall know that I died by the halter, 

To prove that my Master was guiltless and true. 
Ye winds be my dirge, and let vulture and raven 

Engorge the vile flesh on my bones, as they lie I 
No grave should be granted the traitor and craven, 

Lest stones be cast on it, by all that pass by ! 

NARRATIVE. 

And then, he fixed the fatal cord, 

And plunged to death, before his Lord. 



The Sacred Story. 103 

reflections on judas. 

Thus Judas plotted, fell and died! — 

A traitor and a suicide ! 

And though he never wrote a line, 

His life will prove the Lord divine : 

No martyr, yet he testified. 

And for the truth of Jesus died ; 

A factor in the plan of grace, — 

Among apostles had a place, 

Saved men possessed, from Satan's thrall, 

Proclaimed the gospel's joyful call, 

Baptized and taught in Jesus' name. 

And to the holy banquets came ! 

Yet Judas' heart was so defiled. 

That Jesus called him Satan's child, — 

And Peter tells us in his case, 

That Judas went to his own place ! 

Yet some men teach there is no hell, 
And think that Judas, when he fell, 
At once ascended to the skies, 
And now in Abram's bosom lies. 
They think, when Jesus rose to bliss. 
That Judas met Him with a kiss, 
And told Him that the gospel plan. 
Was not the way for saving man ; — 
That he could hang, and save more men. 
Each day, than Christ could save in ten. 



104 



The Sacred Story. 



Methinks I hear you cry, " Enough ! 
There's none but fools believe such stuff.' 
But millions build their hopes of bliss, 
Upon a sandy base like this ! 

The life and death of Judas show, 
That Christ's best witness was his foe ; 
And only infidels deplore, 
The evidence that Judas bore. 




The Sacred Story. 105 

CHAPTER VI.— THE CRUCIFIXION. . 

NARRATIVE. 

The Savior, weary and distressed. 
From scourging, and the loss of rest, 
Sustained the cross beyond the gate, 
But could no longer bear the weight ; 
So Simon a Cyrenean, there. 
Was made the heavy cross to bear. 

BEAKING THE CHOSS. 

On His lacerated shoulders, 

See the cross on which He dies! 
Scorned and jeered by vile beholders, 

'Neath its cumbrous weight He lies. 
See Him stricken, cursed and goaded, 

By the low, inhuman throng; — 
Strange, God's wrath had not exploded, 

On the authors of this wrong ! 

Simon, you were honored, surely ; 

But no more than is the saint, 
Who for love of Jesus, purely, 

Suffers wrong without complaint. 
Millions, now, the cross are bearing, 

And for sin and frailty, mourn : 
Other millions, crowns are wearing, 

Who on earth had crosses borne. 

NARHATIVE. 
And as the Savior passed along, 
Around Him pressed a female throng, 
Whose lamentations, sighs and tears, 
Contrasted v/ith the rabble's jeers. 



106 The Sacred Story. 

^ Their sympathetic voices start 

The tender feelings of His heart, 
And while the tears roll down His cheeks. 
In slow and mournful tones, He speaks : 
" Ye Hebrew mothers, shed no tears for me ; 
But for your children, let your yearning be. 
A day of wratli shall on this city rise, 
When blood and slaughter shall salute your eyes,. 
And you shall mourn with lamentation wild, 
And wish that you had never borne a child. 
My cruel persecutors yet shall stand. 
In terror and dismay, at (lod's left hand, 
And, in their hopeless consternation, call. 
For mountains on their guilty heads to fall. 
If innocence and virtue sutler here, 
AVhere shall the vile and sinful soul appear? " 

WEEP NOT FOR ME. 

Waste on Christ no tears of pity ; 

Willingly He bore the shame. 
But let Salem's hapless city, 

Prayers and intercessions claim. 
No regret is due for sorrows, 

Freely borne by Christ for sin, 
For they save from endless horrors, 

And eternal life will win. 

If the Father's indignation. 

Green and thrifty wood, has burned, 
What will be the conflagration, 

When upon the dry wood turned? 
And if Christ, though pure and blameless. 

Could not turn the Father's ire. 
How can sinners, vile and shameless, 

Shun the all-consuming fire. 



TiiK Sacred Story. 107 

NARRATIVE. 

The cross was borne by Simou's aid, 
And on the top of Calvary laid. 
'Twas there the tragedy began, 
That brought Salvation's boon to man ; 
There sympathizing earth and skies 
In darkness hide, when Jesus dies. 

THE CROSS. 

All hail to the cross, the grand wand of Salvation, — 

The symbol that teaches that sin is abhorred ! 
The seal of the Savior's transcendant oblation, 

And standard to gather the hosts of the Lord ! 
The church is the victor, wherever assembled, 

Beneath the wide arms of the glorious cross, — 
And Satan, before it, has often times trembled. 

And lied from the field with confusion and loss. 

The cross may be heavy —the cross may be gory, 

But gladly I'll bear it, since Christ on it died. 
Though others may scorn it, I'll make it my glory. 

And close in its shadow, I'll humbly abide. 
I'll take up the cross and be patient and lowly, 

And gladly, my Lord, I will suffer for Thee ; 
Though sinful myself, yet my Savior was holy, 

And with Him my sins were all nailed to the tree. 

The cross is the wisdom of God for Salvation, 
But proves to the wicked a rock of offense ; 

The Christian has found it a precious foundation, — 
A talisman healing the soul that repents. 



108 The Sacked Story. 

'Twixt earth and the heavens, the Lamb was suspended; 

For us, with strong crying, He looked to the skies; 
His arms to embrace us, in love were extended, 

And lo, His last look was to earth, as He dies. 

NARRATIVE. 
They oflered Hi in an anodyne, 
Composed of mingled myrrh and wine, 
That torpid nature might sustain 
The racking agonizing pain. 
But Jesus would not cloud His mind, 
And hence the soothing drink declined: 
He came on earth to bear our woe, 
And would not shun a single throe. 
The Lo^'d, divested of His gown, 
Upon the prostrate cross lies down, 
And stretches out His hands and feet, 
The lascerating nails to meet. 
A soldier, with a hammer, strikes, 
And through His sinews sends the spikes. 
No cry of pain — no angry word — ^ 

From that meek Sufferer is heard ; 
But while they look for blank despair, 
They hear His interceding prayer: 
" Forgive them Father — pardon what is done. 
For they don't know they crucify Thy Son." 

FORGIVENESS. 

The lamb will lick, sweetly, the hand of the shepherd, 

Who thrusts to its vitals the murderous knife ; 
The infant will smiie on the wolf or the leopard, 

That comes to destroy the sweet innocent's life; 
It thinks it i-? safe, when with dangers surrounded, 

And till it's too late, there's no warning of pain : 
But Jesus foreknew — yet in anguish unbounded, 

Could pray for the wretches by whom He was slain. 



The Sacred Story. 109 

"The rose that is crushed by the heel of the spoiler, 

Its fragrance redoubles, its foe to regale ; 
The earth that is torn by the plough of the toiler, 

Presents him a harvest for sickle and flail : 
The volume of nature forgiveness impresses, 

And teaches that man must his fellow forgive ; 
The soul that can't pardon the man that transgresses. 

Deserves no forgiveness, and can't hope to live. 

He taught His disciples that foes must be pardoned, — 

That man must forgive, if he would be forgiven — 
That God shows his love for the wicked and hardened. 

And we must do likewise, or hope not for heaven. 
The Lord did not die as a cynic or stoic ; 

Nor did He, for fond ones. His spirit resign ; 
Had Christ died for friends, we might say 'twas heroic, 

But dying for enemies, proves Him divine. 

NARRATIVE. 

A thief was posted on each side, 
And with the Lord was crucified. 
A tablet placed above each head, 
Pronounced the crime for which he bled. 
But Pilate could not answer why, 
The Lord had been condemned to die, 
And with no other charge to bring, 
Rewrote: " This is the Jewish King." 
The priests with this were much chagrined, 
Yet could not say how Christ had sinned. 
And Pilate, when their plaints were heard. 
Refused, in wrath, to change a word. 



no The Sacred Story. 



CHRIST 8 KINGDOM. 



0, why did they crucify Christ, the Redeemer ! 

Or why was He punished with scourge and with rod I 
The council would answer : " Behold a blasphemer, 

Who claims He's divine, and is equal with God " 
For this very reason, we'll always adore Him ; 

For truly He's God, and His glory we'll sing. 
He answered to Pilate but once, when before him. 

And that was to say : " I indeed, am a King." 

And Pilate, though frail, yet by God's inspiration. 

Wrote over His head : " He's the King of the Jews," 
In languages spoken by earth's utmost nation, 

That millions might read and promulgate the news. 
The Lord makes the wrath of the wicked to praise Him, 

And Pilate, in wrath, wrote the Gospel of Peace ; 
And he that condemned did in glory emblaze Him, 

And gave Him a name that shall ever increase. 

The kindgom of Christ, like the stone from the mountain, 

Shall ceaselessly spread till it fills the whole earth. 
That kingdom shall grow like the rill from the fountain. 

That moves to the sea, gaining strength from its birth. 
The Jews, in the fulness of time, shall surrender, 

And Christ for their sovereign, no more will refuse : 
And He shall return in millenial splendor. 

To rule the whole world, as the King of the Jews. 



The Sacred Story. Ill 

NARRATIVE. 

The Roman soldiers now divide 
The clothes that Jesus cast aside ; 
But when His seamless robe was shown, 
Each soldier claimed it as his own. 
This perfect robe was knit by art, 
Without a seam in any part ; 
And as they could not this divide, 
The soldiers let the lot decide. 

THE SEAMLESS R015E. 

This robe is the symbol of sinless perfection — 

The righteousness Jesus wrought out for us here ; 
And clothed in such robes, at the great resurrection, 

We hope at the feast of the Lord to appear. 
But woe to the guest who appears in the clothing, 

And rags of self-righteousness, boastingly worn : 
The Lord of the Feast will expel him with loathing, 

And hurl him in darkness, with demons to mourn. 

NARRATIVE. 

The hooting rabble gather near. 

Where Christ their ribaldry could hear, 

And wag their heads and strut and nod. 

Before the patient Son of God. 
" If you, indeed, are Christ," in scorn they cried. 
"Why art thou as a felon crucified? 
And if you can yon glorious temple raze. 
And build it up, again, within thiee days. 
Then leave the cross, and freely walk abroad, 
And we'll believe you are the Son of God." 

The rulers, elders, priests and scribes, 

Outdid the mob, in jeers and gibes. 
They asked Him why He sufiered as a slave, 
When He was able oihtr men to save. 

The soldiers, too, like all the rest, 

Assailed the Lord \\itli tauiit anil jest. 



112 The Sacked Story. 

why jesus did not destroy them. 

why was such insolence shown the Redeemer! 

Why bear with such wretches for even one hour ? 
Why show such indulgence to knave and blasphemer, 

When Jesus could crush them with infinite power ? 
Such questions establish our ignorance, clearly, 

And prove we don't know why a Substitute came : 
The Lord did not come to be crucified, merely, 

But also to bear for us slander and shame. 

Suppose that the Lord from His cross had descended, 

And wreaked His revenge on the foes in His path ; 
Or what if .Jehovah the heavens had rended, 

And hurled on the scoffers His lightnings of wrath ! 
Ah! then would Redemption, in failure, have ended. 

And angels, in pity, would weep in the skies, — 
While Satan would boast, that with God he contended, 

Subdued him in battle, and bore off the prize. 

NARRATIVE. 

And now the lieavens in darkness fall — 
The earth is clothed in sable pall — 
The sun, for shame, withdraws his light, 
And leaves the land in starless night. 
No voice disturbs the solemn gloom ; 
Men think it is the day of doom. 
With faces pale, and haggard brows, 
They make to God their craven vows. 
With consciences aroused by fear, 
The crouching scoffers disappear. 
But anxious friends, in love, approach, 
And on the verv cross encroach. 



The Sao bed Stoky. 113 

the darkness. 

No wonder the sun hid his face in displeasure! 

No wonder the stars could be ruddy no more ! 
For Jesus was writhing in pain, beyond measure, 

Inflicted by men whose transgressions He bore. 
No wonder in darkness the land was invested ! 

No wonder the Father enclouded His face 1 
For lo, the Messiah, so fully attested, 

The rulers and people had hung in disgrace. 

NARRATIVE. 

The darkness, still, is on the land ;— 

The soldiers near the Savior stand ;— 

The weeping mother ventures near, 

And drops upon His feet a tear. 

And with a gushing briny flood. 

She wipes away the clotted blood. 

At length, she sinks with groans and sighs, 

But turn«, aloft, her yearning eyes. 

The Magdalene draws gently near. 

And whispers comfort in her ear. 

The loving John stands near the cross, 

And moaningly bewails his loss. 

The otiier Mary by Him stands, 

With downcast eyes and folded hands. 

STABAT MATER (a trmislotlon). 

Near the cross, the mother, weeping. 
Watch unon her Spn is keeping, 

While Se br^tlies His last. 
Never mother more afflicted, 
For the cruel sword predicted, 

Through her bleeding soul has passed. 



114 The Sacred Story. 

Never, never has another, 
Suffered like this yearning mother 

For her dear and only Son : 
Grief was on her brow depicted. 
When she saw the wounds inflicted, 

On the Great and Mighty One. 

Is there any man, revealing 
Such perverted heart and feeling. 

As to give her no relief? 
Every heart that's true and tender, 
Active sympathy will render, 

To assuage that mother's grief 

For the sin of every nation, 
Jesus bore the flagellation, 

Dying in His mother's sight. 
All the woes the Son is bearing, 
Mary in her heart is sharing, 

Till His spirit takes its flight. 

Loving Mother — weeping sadly — 
I would bear thy sorrows gladly, 

And would join my tears witli thine 
Let me to my Savior render, 
Ardent love — profound and tender, 

And secure His grace divine. 



The Sacked Storv. 115 

Holy Mother, let me languish, 

On the cross, and bear His anguish, 

And I'll bear His woes alone ! 
Or, at least, I'd proudly share them. 
If my feeble frame can bear them, 

Making half His pain my own. 

Let me weep when thou art sighing, 
Let me mourn the Savior dying. 

While I've tears and groans to give ! 
Near His cross, with thee sojourning, 
I will weep while thou art yearning. 

And bewail him while I live. 

Holy Virgin, be forgiving, 

And allow me, while I'm living, 

To lament and weep with thee ! 
Let me "bear His crucifixion, 
Cast on me Thy Son's affliction, 

And renew His wounds in me ! 

With the cross infatuated. 
And with love inebriated. 

Let me bear His woes, I pray. 
Grant that my intense affection, 
May demand Thy kind attention, 

In the awful Judgment l^ay. 



#= 



116 The Sacred Story. 

In the bloody cross there's merit, 
Through His death we shall inherit, 

Grace and peace in full supply : 
When in death this body's riven, 
To my longing soul be given, 

Life in Paradise on high. 

THE MOTHER 

No picture that poet or artist has painted, 

Can move us like Mary lamenting her loss : 
She lies on the earth, where in grief she has fainted^. 

Or else she is weeping beholding the cross. 
Her spirit the sword of affliction has entered ; 

Her song of rejoicing in silence is hushed ; 
The hopes that on Jesus so fondly had centered, 

Are crucified with Him, and ruthlessly crushed- 

Methinks the dear Lord, in compassion, relieved her. 

And gave her a vision that dried up her tears : 
Perhaps he concealed the sad view that so grieved her.. 

And showed her Himself, as to saints He appcars.- 
Or possibly showed her His power and glory. 

And told her as King, he forever would reign, — 
That millions of saints would rejoice in His stor^^ 

And worship the Lamb upon Calvary slain. 

NARRATIVE. 

While darkness on the earth is spread, 
And spectral forms in silence tread, 
A voice is heard upon his left, 
From one of those condemned for theft. 



The Sacred Story. 117 

" Come vile pretender, tauntingly he cried, 
If thou art God, why art thou crucified ? 
Now prove thy claim — exert thy mighty power, 
And save thyself and us, this very hour." 

THE IMPENITENT THIEF. 

There are creatures so degraded, 

That the dying they deride ! 
Strange that Christ should be upbraided, 

By a sufferer at His side ! 
How could robber, thief or traitor, 

With his failing, dying breath, 
Mock and jeer the world's Creator, 

While, in flesh, He bowed in death ! 

NARRATIVE. 

The thief upon the other side, 
In gentle words and tone, replied ; 
" HastJhou no fear of God, though death is nigh ! 
Forget not that to-day we three must die ! 
This man, that you revile, is good and pure, * 
But you and I just punishment endure." 
Then to the Lord, with yearning eyes, 
With faith and hope and love, he cries ; 
" I claim no merit Lord — I bring no plea. 
But in Thy Kingdom Lord, remember me." 
And with delight, he heard the Savior say : 
"In Paradise and bliss, we'll meet to-day " 

THE PENITENT THIEF. 

With Calvary's scene, the great day will contrast, — 

When Jesus, as Judge, on His throne will be seated ; 

The carping, impenitent thief He will cast. 

Where darkness and chains, to the wicked, are meted. 



118 The Sacred Story. 

And he that was penitent, there shall enjoy, 

The smile of the Lord and divine consolation ; 

And none will more gratefully, praises employ, 

Nor sing, with more pleasure, the songs of Salvation. 

The thief could not claim his good works as a merit — 

Was never baptized — had no sacrament taken ; 
Yet Jesus declared, he should heaven inherit. 

And even, that day, should in glory awaken. 
So dying men, sometimes, with faith are rewarded. 

Though faint is the hope in that moment of gloom, 
For only this case, in God's word is recorded. 

That hope might not perish, nor sinners presume. 

NARRATIVE. 

The Savior's cheering words of grace 

Brought joy upon the mother's face ; 

And rising from her lowly bed, 

She feebly walked as Mary led. 

And when the pair to John drew near, 

The Savior spoke in accents clear : 
" My mother, since my earthly race is run. 
The loving John shall be, henceforth, thy son." 

And then to John He turned His head. 

And with a look of yearning said: 
" Behold thy mother— such through life she'll be, 
And let her find a tender son in thee." 

Thenceforth she was not left to roam, 

But found, with John, a happy home. 

mauy's wail changed to exultation. 
My God, I've lost my only staff and stay ! 

My hopes, my heart and soul, are crushed! 
My lamp of life emits no cheering ray, 

And my triumphant song is hushed. 



Ihe Sacked Story. 119 

The threatened sword has pierced my fainting soul ; 

I feel the nails that tear His hands and feet ; 
The waves of woe across my bosom roll, 

And bitter tears become my meat. 

As pants the wearied heart for wafer-brooks, 

So pants my soul for Thee, 0, God ! 
My heart, to Thee, in calm submission looks. 

And feels Thy lascerating rod. 
Be not my soul cast down with fear. 

But trust thy (lod — accept His grace; 
Pour thy petitions in His listening ear, 

And gather comfort from His face. 

But something whispers to my anguished soul. 

That in the flesh we'll meet again. 
And while the wheels of endless ages roll, 

In Itliss, together, we will reign. 
I feel a change — prophetic visions rise ! 

Behold, He bursts death's iron bands ! 
He now ascends — He's welcomed to the skies! 

And in His Father's presence stands! 

Befoic Him every nation humbly bows! 

Tiie islands of the sea adore! 
The (ientiles come to Him with prayers and vows. 

And triumph in the cross He bore ! 
Then why should 1 my dying son lament. 

If tluis eternal life we find! 
O, make me, from tliis sacred hour, content. 

To lose mv son, and save mankind ! 



120 The Sacred Story. 

Then I will meekly bow and kiss the rod ! 

But lo, like Aaron's staff, it sprouts ! 
My murmerings, now, 1 lind have ceased, 0, God^ 

And I no more have galling doubts. 
Again my son becomes my staff and stay, — 

My hopes, my heart and soul are strong ! 
My lamp of life emits a cheering ray. 

And mine's a glad triumphant song '. 

MARY THE BLEST AMONG WOMEN. 

The name of no saint is so lovely as Mary ! 

Of titles, the " Mother of Jesus " is best ! 
She's never been slighted — opinions don't vary, — 

For all generations have called her " The Blest." 
So pure in her life — her affections so holy, — 

No wonder so many have thought her divine ! 
She's loved by the lordly — revered by the lowly, 

And millions, devoutly, bow down at her shrine T 

But no one has told us the woes of that mother, 

Nor measured her yearning, her gloom, or despair^ 
While watching her son, who endured what no other. 

Of angels or mortals, was able to bear. 
And Jesus esteemed her, with filial affection ; 

Her word was His law, and her biddings were done_ 
And even when dying. He made the selection. 

Of him that was dearest, to act as her son. 



The Sacked Story. 121 

JOHN. 

John, of all the twelve, was dearest. 

And perhaps loved Jesus best; 
At the cross, he stood the nearest. 

And by Jesus was addressed. 
Oonfideuce and love were blended. 

Such as no one else has won, 
When the Savior recommended, 

John to take His place, as son 

John, when all the others failed Him, 

Followed Christ and knew no fear ; 
And, when on the cross they nailed Him, 

John, alone, in love, drew^ near. 
Wives were not more soft and tender ; 

Sons were not more true and brave ; 
Angels did not service render. 

Purer than to Christ he gave. 

■''Little children love each other; — " 

Was His lesson, daily taught. 
Every man he deemed a brother. 

And salvation for him sought. 
Love became a sweet emotion. 

Gently thrilling through his soul, — 
Or a deep and tranquil ocean, 

Where no waves of passion roll. 



122 The Sacred Stoky. 



NARRATIVE. 

Three hours of darkness had prevailed, 
When Christ in mental anguish wailed : 

' My God, My God, am I disclaimed by Thee ! 

Is sin so vile, that Thou dost turn from me ! " 



THE EVENING OBLATION. 

'Twas just at the time of this strange exclamation, — 

When Jesus was bearing the sin of His foes, — 
That flames were consuming the Evening Oblation, 

And smoke, as the emblem of torment, arose. 
The wrath of the Father was burning the victim. 

Whose sufferings, for human transgressions atone ; 
The Father was pleased in His wrath to afflict Him, 

And leave Him to trample the wine press alone. 

'Twas sin, not the sinner, Jehovah regarded : 

'Twas sin and not Jesus, the Father abhorred ; 
His person was not by Jehovah discarded ; 

For Christ was still loved by His Father and Lord. 
The wrath of the Father for sin, was the reason. 

That Jesus, in anguish and wretchedness, cried ; 
He bore condemnation for sin for a season. 

In anguish of soul, more than body, He died. 

The cry of the Savior, " Why am I forsaken," 
Exhibits humanity's terror and grief; 

Because He was man, His afflictions awaken. 

The heart to compassion — the hand to relief. 



The Sacred Story. 123 

The anguish of Christ was not vain or ideal ; 

His pains were not borne by His nature divine ; 
We know that His sufferings and torture were real, 

And learn in afflictions we must not repine. 

NARRATIVE. 

When dying pains were at their worst, 

The Savior meekly said, " I thirst." 

The soldiers vinegar supplied ; 

And then in louder voice He cried : 
" 'Tis finished ; man's redemption has been won ; 
The Scriptures are fulfilled — my work is done. 
And now, 0, Father, into Thy control, 
In full assurance, I commit my soul." 

And drawing, then, His latest breath. 

He bowed His sacred head in death. 

TRIUMPHANT REFLECTIONS — REDEMPTION COMPLETE. 

The sufferings of Jesus are ended ! 

Atonement for man is secured ! 
The Father's no longer offended, 

Since Jesus the cross has endured. 
Go forth with the glad proclamation, 

That Jesus atonement has made, — 
That now we may hope for salvation, 

Since Jesus the ransom has paid. 

But joy should be mingled with sighing, 

And tears should gush forth as a flood, — 

For Jesus redeemed us by dying, 

And saved us by shedding His blood. 



124 The Sacred Story. 

For us He was scourged and maltreated ; 

For us He was nailed to the tree ; 
Then let Him with homage be greeted, — 

Let tears of devotion run free. 

The work of redemption is ended ; — 

Predictions and types are fulfilled, — 
The vail of the temple is rended, — 

The Lamb of Jehovah is killed, — 
The temple will now be neglected; — 

The priests from its courts will depart 
For Jesus, the Savior accepted, M- V^iJ^^^^ 

Erects his own shrine in the heart. 

NARRATIVE. 

The moment that He bowed and died, 
The world, in sympathy, replied ; 
The earth in consternation quaked ; 
The slumbering saints, in horror, waked ; 
The temple vail was torn apart, 
And shuddering rocks in anger start. 

THE POWER OF CHRIST's DEATH. 

Though men were so cold and unfeeling, 

When Jesus, in agony, cried. 
Yet rocks, their compassion revealing, 

Were melted and moved when He died. 
The earth, with emotions of horror. 

Convulsively labored and shook ; 
Yet men on this drama of sorrow. 

Could even derisively look ! 



The Sacred Story. 125 

The saints, who for ages had slumbered, 

Awoke from their graves of repose ; 
And many, with bodies encumbered. 

Were seen after Jesus arose. 
Three days they remained in their prison. 

And did not emerge from its gloom, 
But after the Lord had arisen, 

They also vacated the tomb. 

The vail was divided asunder; 

The Holy of Holies exposed ; 
And Gentiles regarded with wonder, 

The way into heaven unclosed. 
For Jesus had once, and forever. 

Thrown open the gates for us all ; 
.And gentiles can enter, yet never, 

On priests for assistance need call. 

THE RENDED VAIL. 

Two natures — human and divine. 

In Christ, our Lord, were blended ; 
The spirit made the flesh its shrine, 

Till death the body rended. 
And therefore, when He bowed His liead, 

The temple vail was rifted, — 
■ To show mankind the vail that spread, 

'Twixt man and God, was lifted. 



126 The Sacred Story. 

Henceforth, the Gentiles and the Jews 

Will let no vail divide them ; 
But all may come to God, who choose. 

And ask no priest to guide them. 
For Jesus is our Great High Priest, 

Who once for all has entered, 
And since the temple rites have ceased, 

Our hopes on Him are centered. 

When Christ, the antitype, in pain. 

Upon the cross was dying. 
The lamb, before the altar slain. 

On burning coals was lying. 
The priest was standing by the vail ; 

His prayer had not been ended ; 
When, lo ! with crash that made him quail,,. 

The holy woof was rended. 

He staggered forth in trembling awe, 

And told his tale of wonder ; 
The other priests drew near and saw 

The vail was torn asunder. 
No bar shut out the mercy seat, — 

No wall of separation — 
For God would now his people meet. 

In every land and nation. 

THE CROSS — ITS MEANING. 

The cross was the emblem selected 
For scorn, execration and pain. 

On Calvary's top 'twas erected, 
The eyes of all people to gain. 



The Sacred Story. 127 

'Twas right that the great Mediator, 

'Twixt God and the sinner, should stand, 
To lift up His eyes to the Greater, 

And place on the lesser His hand. 

The arms of the Lord were extended, 

As if the whole earth He would bear, — 
Or man unto God were commended, 

In strong, intercessory prayer. 
When Jesus with death was contending, 

He looked up to God in the skies ; 
But when the great conflict was ending. 

He turned upon mortals His eyes. 

NARRATIVE, 

The awful tragedy was through, 
And friends and enemies withdrew. 
Some smite their breasts, and trembling, say, 
" Unlawful deeds were done to-day." 
The female friends from Galilee, 
Though far away, could hear and see. 
The soldiers, who at first gave jeers, 
In tones subdued, announced their fears. 
And some, more candid than the rest, 
A way-side faith in Christ expressed. 
But, boldly, the centurion said, 
A just and righteous man had bled ! 

THE WITNESSES. 

The trial and death of the Savior presented. 
No duty neglected — no breach of the law ; 

For Judas, of treason sincerely repented, — 

The council, though biased. His innocence saw, 



128 The Sacred Story. 

King Herod, though angry, the Savior acquitted. 

And Pilate found nothing of which to complain, — 

His virtue the Roman centurion admitted, 

And so did the soldiers by whom He was slain. 

The penitent thief found Him tender and gracious ; 

And that He was guiltless, could loudly proclaim. 
The other, though wicked, and strangely audacious. 

Could find no offense to attach to His name. 
The women, in faith and affection, bewailed Him; 

The priests contradicted the charges they brought; 
Th' apostles though frail, in the end did not fail Him, 

And even the guards in a falsehood were caught. 

The rulers withdrew all the charges they uttered ; 

And had they been true, there was naught that 
was wrong. 
The people cried out what the priesthood had muttered, 

While leading, exciting and prompting the throng. 
The council established no charges of treason. 

And nothing like blasphemy Pilate would hear ; 
And why they condemned Him, we can't find a reason, 

And why He was crucified, does not appear. 

NARRATIVE. 

'Twas growing late ; at set of sun, 
The Sabbath day would be begun. 
It's holy hours would be profaned, 
If on the cross the thieves remained ; 
And so to end their lives and woe's, 
The>' broke their legs, with heavy blows ; 



The Sacred Story. 129 

But Christ was dead, beyond mistake, 
And hence His legs they did not break. 
And yet, that we might know He died, 
A soldier's spear impaled His side. 
And from the wound, there poured a flood. 
Of water intermixed with blood. 

THE WATER AND BLOOD. 

His heart had been pierced by the spear in His side-, 
And therefore, we know that the Savior had died. 
Borne down and oppressed by the sin of the world, 
His death was complete, ere the spear had been hurled. 
The water that poured irom His heart shall arise 
And fall, in fresh showers, as rain from the skies, 
Converting and cleansing the heart from its sin, 
And fitting a home for the spirit within. 
The blood had more merit than all that was shed, 
Since Abel's first lamb to the altar was led. 
By faith 'twill atone for the sin of mankind, 
And through it all people Salvation may fiud. 

NARRATIVE. 

Of noted men, there were a few, 
Whose love to Christ was warm and true. 
So Joseph scorn and danger braved, 
And Jesus' body boldly craved ; 
And Pilate yielded his consent, 
And as the day was nearly spent, 
The Lord was lowered to the ground, 
And in fine linen vestsments bound, 
With aloes, myrrh and rich perfume, 
And placed in Joseph's new made tomb. 
The door is with a stone made fast. 
Until the Sabbath shall be past. 



130 The Sacred Story. 

the burial. 

The Lord to a life of affliction descended ; 

He bore malediction from manger to tomb. 
At length, in the grave, all His sorrows are ended ; 

And now He's surrounded by silence and gloom. 
That hour's the darkest that heralds the morning; 

So Christ in the gloom of the sepulcher lies; 
But lo, the bright day-star the East is adorning, 

And soon the great sun in effulgence shall rise. 

I too, in this life must endure contradiction, 

And meet disappointment from cradle to bier ; 
I too, must depart in distress and affliction, 

And fall, like the leaf, when the forest is sere. 
I too, must descend to the grave's rayless prison. 

And lie in its gloom till He bids me arise ; 
But He will be with me, and when I'm arisen, 

He'll bear me on wings of His love to the skies, 

NARRATIVE. 

But Mary Magdalene, in gloom, 
Eemained to watch before the tomb, 
And, to the other Mary, tell, 
Of Jesus, whom they loved so well. 

MARY Magdalene's grief and gratitude. 

How I'm troubled ! Life is weary ! 

I've no friend, since He is dead. 
Life is blank, and earth is dreary. 

Since their joy and hope have fled. 



The Sacred Story. 131 

Can it be that He has perished ! 

Has my Lord indeed been slain ! 
Then, the hope shall still be cherished, 

That in Heaven we'll meet again. 

Oh, His racking pain and anguish, 

Who can tell, and who can paint ! 
How could He in misery languish, 

Bearing all, without complaint ! 
Hear their rudeness and reviling, 

Mid His pangs and throes of death ! 
Yet He bore them, sweetly smiling, 

Till His last convulsive breath. 

Is His slumber sound and endless ? 

Shall He waken never more ? 
Though He's dead, He is not friendless ; 

I shall still my Lord adore. 
All I am or have, I OAve Him ! 

Me, He saved from Satan's thrall ! 
I'll embalm Him now, to show Him, 

Even yet He is my all. 

THE OTHER MARY's CONSOLING ANSWER. 

Dry thy tears, and cease thy weeping ! 

I am sure He will arise ! 
In His tomb He's only sleeping ! 

You'll behold Him with your eyes ! 



132 The Sacred Story. 

He has suffered crucifixion ; 

Satan thus has bruised His heel ; 
But, as says the first prediction, 

Satan's head His stroke shall feel. 

He informed us, three days, only. 

Death should bind Him to the tomb 
Then He'll burst its chamber, lonely. 

And in triumph leave its gloom. 
Rise my sister, cease thy sorrow ; 

Weep not for the Lamb that's slaia.- 
Now we leave — we'll rest to-morrow, 

And the third day come again. 




The Sacred Stoky. 133 



CHAPTER VII.^THE RESURRECTION. 



NARRATIVE. 

The priests who told that Jesus said, 
"Destroj' this house, and in its stead, 
I'll build another just as good," — 
Now prove these words were understood ; 
For they, in haste, to Pilate came, 
A band of Roman guards to claim, 
To watch the tomb, both night and day, 
Lest some one steal the Lord away. 
For that deceiver, as they called Him, said, 
That he would rise again, when three days dead. 
" And then we'll show," — so said a scheming priest, 
" That his last error will not prove the least." 
By Pilate's word, the temple band 
Was trusted to the priests' command ; 
The sepulcher was made secure ; 
A seal was placed upon the door. 
And soldiers watched beside the tomb. 
Through morning's light and evening's gloom. 



GOD S EXULTATION : THE SECOND I'SALM. 

Behold, how the heathen are raging, — 

And plainly their folly is shown : 
The priests, in their weakness, are waging 

A war against God on His throne. 
Jehovah, in heaven, is seated, 

And scornfully mocks and derides; 
His foes are already defeated, — 

For none in His presence abides. 

- 9 — 



134 The Sacred Story. 

Jehovah from heaven has spoken, 

And claims the dear Lord as His Son ; 
His foes like a vessel are broken, 

And earth to His scepter is won. 
Be wise, ye priests and instructed ; 

Make peace with the Son, while ye may 
Or down to perdition conducted, 

In darkness and chains, -ye shall stay ! 

Jehovah is never frustrated; 

No power has thwarted His will : 
The guard at the sepulcher waited, 

His purpose and word to fulfill. 
That guard, by the priests was expected. 

Some fraud or deceit to expose ; 
But nothing amiss was detected, 

And proved that the Savior arose. 

NARRATIVE. 

'Tis night ; the bahuy breezes sigh ; 
The full-orbed moon descends the sky ; 
The morning star illumes the east, 
While all the minor lights have ceased. 
The men that watch around the tomb, 
With pleasure, note the fading gloom. — 
When lo I an angel's glittering sheen 
Spreads light and splendor on the scene. 
His countenance like lightning glows ; 
His raiment shines like arctic snows ; 
And while an earthc^uake shakes the land, 
He drops, and with a mighty hand, 
Rolls back the large and cumbrous stone, 
And sits upon it, as his throne. 



The Sacred Story. 135 

The Lord, resuming vital breath, 
Comes forth, a victor over death. 
The keepers struck with trembling fear, 
Abruptly fly, and disappear. 

EXULTATION : THE RISEN LORD. 

Rejoice, ior the Lord has arisen, 

And rules over death and the grave — 
Has broken the charnel-house prisoa, 

And shown us His power to save. 
The drama is fully enacted ; 

No longer to Satan we bow ; 
The poison of Death is extracted, — 

The grave has no victory now. 

Six days were employed in creation ; 

The seventh was hallowed and blessed; 
And down through the first dispensation, 

'Twas sacred to worship and rest. 
Thus, also, redemption was ended, 

When Christ, on the first day, arose ; 
And Sunday has therefore, descended 

To us, as a day of repose. 

This day was the season appointed. 

The sheaf in the temple, to wave : 
This day the Redeemer, anointed, 

Became the first fruit of the grave. 



136 _ The Sacred Story. 

And now, in the morning, with doubting, 
Disciples bear seed to the plain, — 

And come in the evening, with shouting. 
And sheaves of the harvested grain. 

As men from their slumber awaken, 

And morn is effulgent with light, 
The stone from the entrance is taken, 

To let in the marvelous light ; 
So Jesus, in glory transcendent, 

At sunrise, came forth from the gloom ; 
And now even death is resplendent. 

Since Jesus has lighted the tomb. 

NARRATIVE. 

The guard return with faces pale, 
To tell the priests their wondrous tale. 
Their story would — if not denied, 
Convince the world that Jesus died, 
And rose triumphant from the grave, 
With power that sokliers could not brave. 
The council, therefore, paid them well, 
And taught them how their tale to tell : 
To all that asked, they were to say, 
" The Lord's remains were borne away. 
While every member of the band 
Was sound asleep upon his stand." 

THE ABSURD STORY OF THE GT'ARDSMEN. 

This awkward untruth is as good as confession ; 

And, therefore, the story the world won't accept. 
For no one will credit such gross indiscretion, 

When death was the doom of the guardsman that slept. 



The Sacred Storv. 137 

And no one will, surely, believe that the sleepers, 

When wholly unconscious, what happened, could say ; 

Or if they were conscious, then why did those keepers, 
Consent that the body be taken away ! 

NARRATIVE. 

The frightened soldiers disappear, 
And Mary Magdalene draws near ; 
For she, with other women, came, 
The body of the Lord to claim. 
And as they hurry on, they say, 
" Who'll roll the heavy stone away I " 
But when before the tomb they halt, 
They find a void and open vault. 

THE STONE ROLLED AWAY. 

The Christian believes, in the distance, 

A lion his pathway has gained ; 
He boldly prepares for resistance, 

But finds that the lion is chained. 
When priests bear the ark through the Jordan, 

They touch not the waves with their feet ; 
For as they advance with their burden. 

The waters before them retreat. 

Tread firmly the pathway of duty, — 

The mountains that loom in your way, 
Will spread into valleys of beauty, 

Inviting your footsteps to stray. 
The tomb may be cheerless and dreary. 

But God rolls the stone from the door ; 
And there the afflicted and weary. 

Find sunlight and rest evermore. 



138 The Sacred Story. 

The sinner is lifeless and bleeding, 

A mountain of guilt on him lies ; 
But see — he is struggling and pleading, 

Yet cannot, through weakness, arise. 
And lo, from the Heavens descending. 

The Lord rolls the mountain away. 
And over the penitent bending, 

Breathes warmth and new life in the clay. 

NARRATIVE. 

And Mary looked around, and then, 
Ran back, in haste, to tell the men. 
The other women search begin. — 
Approach the tomb, and look within. 
They see two angels there, who gently said- 
" Why seek the Living One, among the dead ! 
Come see, — He is not here, — be not afraid ; 
But look upon the place where He was laid, 
And in this empty tomb, you see. 
The truth of what He said in Galilee, — 
That He must die by hands of cruel men. 
And after three days, He would rise again." 
The women, in alarm, returned, 
To tell the men what they had learned. 
And as they go, the Lord appears. 
And they embrace His f-'et with tears. 
Then Jesus said — " Go tell my friends for me, 
I'll meet them all, again, in Galilee." 

That morn, when John and Peter heard, 
From Mary, what had just occurred. 
They rose and hurried to the tomb. 
And found it then, an open room. 
They entered, and beheld the clothes, 
The Lord had left, when he arose. 
They looked around, and nothing learned ; 
And sadly to their home returned. 



The Sacred Story, 139 

But Marj', weary and distressed, 

With weeping eyes and heaving breast, 

Approached the sacred tomb again, 

To see the place, where Christ had lain. 
The angels asked her, " Why that tear ? " 
She said : " Because my Lord was burietl here. 
And now I know not where His body lies,"— 
And turning, Jesus stood before her eyes. 
But she her Lord and Master did not know. 
He asked her, " Why do tears of sorrow flow ? 
Whom seekest thou among the buried dead ? " 
And she, supposing Him the gardener, said : 
■ If thou hast borne Him hence, Oh, tell me where. 
That I may give His body proper care." 
One word He spoke, — 'twas " Mary," her own name. 
She cried, " My Master," and to Jesus came. 
He stopped her ; then in softest tone : — 
' I've not ascended to my Father's throne. 
Go tell my brethren, they, with me, shall stand, 
Exalted and redeemed, at God's right hand. 

woman's faith. 
When Jesus with mortals was dwelling, 

He found but few friends among men ; 
But women, in graces excelling, 

In numbers had faith in Him then. 
His head was by woman anointed, 

His feet by her kisses were pressed, 
And Mary and Martha appointed 

Their home for His comfort and rest. 

The Syro-phenician's frail daughter. 
Believing, was cured of her spell. 

Another found life-giving water, 
At Sychar's Samaritan well. 



140 The Sacred Story. 

Jerusalem's daughters bewailed Him, 

And Pilate's good wife Avas His friend : 

No female is known to have failed Him, 
But all were found true to the end. 

But none were more faithful than Mar}'^, 

Who wept at the cross and the tomb. 
Her love did not falter or vary, 

But burned with clear light in the gloom. 
His words were to woman last spoken, 

Before He in death bowed His head, — 
To woman the news was first broken, — 

That Christ was alive from the dead. 

The woman was last in creation, 

And no one denies she is best. 
And she was the first in salvation, — 

For Jesus drew life at her breast. 
Four Marys : The first, she who bore Him ; 

The second, the perfect part chose ; 
The third, at the cross stood before Him ; 

The fourth, met Him first when He rose. 



The Sacred Story, 141 

rONCLUSION : A HYMN OF THANKSGIVING. ' 

Let every heart in triumph sing, 

Let praise arise from all the nations, 
Let grateful Gentiles tribute bring, 

And contrite Jews present oblations ! 
The great atonement has been made, 

And Satan's malice is defeated. 
The Savior has our ransom paid, 

And man's redemption is completed. 

Give honor to the Father's name. 

Whose mercy planned the world's salvation : 
The merits of the Son proclaim. 

Whose death removes our condemnation : 
And let the Holy Spirit be 

Extolled in heaven, and by the living; 
And saints and angels praise the Three, 

With earnest love and warm thanksgiving. 




_^THE LOYERS,^- 



CHARACTERS. 

Edward (Henky), ) ^, _ 

Cora, [ The Lovers. 

Col. Hall . . Cora's Step- father. 

Mrs. Hall Cora's Mother. 

Orpah Henry's Nurse. 

Amos A Servant. 



Scene I. — CoJ. Hall and Orpah. 

Col. Hall: 

I trust, dear Orpah, we are now, alone. 
And what we say, must be in undertone. 

I visit you, again, prepared to pay 
The monthly stipend due to you, to-day. 
For twenty years, I've promptly paid the sum, 
And you have kept as silent, as if dumb. 
Here take your money, and be wise and true, 
And doubl}^ guarded what you say or do. 

I'm sorely troubled, and am pained to see 
That Edward, daily, comes so near to me. 
And Cora seeiiis enraptured with the boy, — 
And yet their marriage would m}^ peace destroy 



The Lovers. . 143 

The youth, the image of his father seems, 

And every night has haunted me in dreams ; 

And warning spirits whisper in my ear, 

That you are false, and T have cause to fear. 

« 
Orpah. 

Fear not, — 111 keep your secret well, 

For my own crime, I dare not tell. 

I can't your guilty part make known, 

Without confession of my own. 

This Edward, it is true, can claim. 
That Henry is his proper name. 
He has the right to all your gold, 
And to the lands and bonds you hold. 
But truth brings death to you and me ; 
While fraud and falsehood set us free. 

That awful night, I can't forget ! 
A frightful specter haunts me yet ! 
I bore young Henry far away. 
And then returned, ere break of day. 
I cast a brand upon his bed, 
And as the flames arose, I fled 
With lamentation loud and wild, 
I told that I had left the child. 
As one insane, I moaned and cried. 
And all believed that Henry died. 
But he was safe and well, in truth, 
And now has grown a handsome youth. 
Though Edward is a millionaire, 
He still has scorn and want to bear ; 



144 The Lovers. 

But he is brilliant and refined, — 
Is not to any vice inclined, — 
Has quite a reputation made, 
And fortune won't be long delayed. 
He's like his father, I agree, — 
As all who knew his sire, can see. 
No better man could Cora choose ; 
And yet consent you must refuse. 

You've paid me all that's due I know ; 
But all you have, to me you owe. 
Yet fear of me you must not feel. 
For why should I my guilt reveal. 

Col. Hall: 

Then never breathe the truth, and all is well ; 
For both of us must die, if one should tell. 
Young Edward, near my mansion, can not stay ; 
And I'm resolved to drive the youth away. 
His likeness to his father is so plain. 
That all will see it, if he should remain. 
And let the caitiff never cross my path. 
For I can't promise that I'll stay my wrath. 
My wife begins to smile upon the youth, 
And soon, I fear, will ascertain the truth ; 
And he already Cora's heart has won. 
And if they marry, we shall be undone. 



The Lovers. 145 

Scene II. — Edward and Cora by the Lake. 
Edward : 

In youth, at stated seasons, I received 
Round sums of money, which my wants relieved, 
But since of age, my stipends came no more ; 
And I was homeless, nameless, sad and poor; 
The world bestowed upon me only scorn, 
Because I was not rich and gentle-born. 
But I have found in you a faithful heart, 
That bids my carping cares and doubts depart. 
Since first we met upon this lakelet's shore, 
I've felt a gladness never known before. 
Ambition fills and cheers my new-born soul. 
And points to honor, as no distant goal. 
But can you deem it, Cora, wise and safe. 
To love a pauper, and espouse a waif? 



Cora : 



No fears, dear Edward, entertain-; 

For I am neither false nor vain. 

No man of lofty mien, like you. 

With mind so rich, and heart so true, 

Could from an humble peasant come, 

Nor from a reeking city slum. 

No stigma shall defile your name. 

And you'll yet learn from whence you came. 

My confidence is full and free 

And all I have, I give to thee. 



146 The Lovehs. 

Edward : 

The cheering words of faith, that you express, 
Inflames my zeal, and will insure success. 
I've lately been admitted to the bar, 
And fees and business have been good, thus far ; 
And I am sure my practice, soon, will give, 
An ample sum, on which we both may live. 

Cora : 

I'm certain you'll succeed in life, — 
For I shall be your helping wife. 
I'll honor you in your success, 
And when you fail, I'll love no less. 
If Colonel Hall will but allow, 
My mother will her child endow, — 
For she inherited the whole, 
Of that vast wealth, in his control. 

Edward : 

But he's a tyrant, and my bitter foe ; 

And not a cent on us, will he bestow. 

But while I have your loving hand and heart, 

Wealth can't another thrill of joy impart. 

Now let my new-born soul express in song, 

The hopes and pleasures that to love belong. 

Edward's song: the glamour of love. 

A year has not passed since we met the first time. 

And looked on the scenes now around us ; 
For views that now thrill us, w^ere then not sublime, 



The Loveks. 147 

For Love by its spell had not bound us. 
This lake that, a year ago, seemed to be trite, 

The glamour of Love makes enchanting ; 
For here, on its margin, I gained the first sight, 

Of her for whose love I am panting. 

All nature seems bright with a rose-colored light ; 

The morn on fresh flowers reposes ; 
The quavering trees warble songs to the breeze, 

And night sheds the fragrance of roses. 
With thee for my bride, my ambition and jjride 

Point upward, to power and station : 
And so to my eyes, there's no motive to rise, 

So potent as 3^our approbation. 

The swans of the lake, that disport on its face, — 

Though pure as the ice from its waters, — 
Possess not the purity, beauty and grace, 

( )f Cora, the fairest of daughters. 
My charmer, if magic has blinded my eyes, 

And left me in spell-bound condition. 
You cannot, in justice, your lover despise, — 

For you are, yourself, the magician. 

Cora's song: i.ove brincjs ineffable joy. 

Hince first the engagement between us was made, 

Unspeakable peace has been mine ; 
Some rapturous charm my affections has swayed, 

Till now I am perfectly thine. 



148 The Lovers. 

I now understand how the husband and wife, 
Are known to the law, as but one, — 

For mutual love will make mutual life. 
And mingling of souls is Ijegun. 

To live for one's self is to live as the brute, — 

For life, without love, is profaned : 
That wedlock is hallowed, there's none to dispute. 

Since marriage, by God was ordained. 
Philanthropy could not the woman redeem, 

Till chivalry came to its aid ; 
And now where she's honored the most, it would seem. 

Preeminent progress is made. 

The thoughts that, before my betrothal, were right, 

Now seem to conflict with my vow ; 
The pastimes and sports that were once my delight, 

Are empty and frivolous now. 
The pleasures I found in my earlier years, 

To-day, are a thousand fold more ; 
For now, I can find more of bliss in my tears. 

Than smiles ever brought me before. 

Scene 111. — The Mansion — Col. Hall and Wife. 
Mrs Hall: 

I can not see, dear husband, why, 
We must these hearts their wish deny ; 
For Cora loves the noble youth, 
With fervor, constancy and truth. 



The Lovers. '149 

'Twould break her heart to be denied,- - 
And Edward's worthy of his bride. 
He's poor, but surely we can spare, 
Enough to start this frugal pair. 
Remember, this estate is mine, 
And what I ask, you can't decline. 
My daughter begged that she might wed, 
And, for a dowry, strongly plead. 
Now let us counsel what to do. 
For Edward will apply to you. 

Col. Hall : 

The low-born foundling need not come to me, 
For I'm resolved this marriage shall not be. 
If nothing else will suit this youth so well, 
I'll try the virtue of a prison cell. 
My money and dictation, I am sure, 
His siezure and conviction will secure. 
And Cora can not safely tempt my wrath. 
For she will suffer, if she cross my path. 
I care not whence my hoards of money came, 
For now, at least, the funds are in my name. 
And not a dollar shall you give away, 
Unless it goes exactly as I say. 
This youth is but a beggar from the street, 
Unfit for any decent girl to meet, 
And if he comes, I'll drive him from my sight, 
In words emphatic, rather than polite. 
But hark ! I hear him coming now ; indeed ! 
I'll wait and hear the stammering caitiff plead. 
- 10 - 



150 The Loveks. 

Edward enters and speaks : 

I'm truly glad to meet with both of you, — 

For I desire a private interview 

That Cora is espoused to me, you know : 

At least, you've reason to believe it so. 

And I approach her honored parents, now, 

To ask their sanction to our nuptial vow. 

I have no name nor fortune, — it is true — 

But we propose to be no tax on you. 

I am not wealthy — have no gold nor land, 

But ask your blessing, with your daughter's hand. 

Mrs. Hall: 

My husband knows what will be best ; 

With him I'll let the matter rest ; 

His answer you may deem my own. 

And now, I'll leave you two alone. 

\_Retires.~\ 

Col. Hall: 

My mind is fixed — and my resolve is strong. 
This marriage shall not be, for it is wrong ! 
My Cora shall not lead a life of shame. 
With one devoid of merit, wealth and name. 
A foundling, all the world regards with scorn, — 
Who, in the lowest slum, perhaps, was born. 
The graceless wretch whom all mankind despise, 
Can never hope in wealth and fame to rise. 
I therefore bid you leave, and never more 
To speak to Cora, nor come near my door. 



The r.ovERs. 151 

I warn you now, that dangers' haunt your way, 
And you can never here, in safety stay. 
Go, leave the city — make an early start, — 
To some remote and genial land, depart. 
If any aspiration calls you hence, 
I'll help you off, and bear the whole expense. 
Indeed, if you will go away from here, 
I'll send to you a hundred pounds a year. 
You'll prosper more in any other place, 
Than here at home, mid danger and disgrace : 
So now, you may in foreign lands abide, — 
Or here in shame and destitution hide. 

Edtoard : 

Your otier, and your insult, I despise ! 

By merit, more than wealth or birth, we rise. 

Ambition urges me to strive and press. 

And hope, with cheering voice, predicts success; 

Already palms and laurels I've achieved, 

And as a rising jurist, I'm received. 

I shall not take your hundred i)Ounds a year, 

And shall not leave — for there's no danger here. 

Assassins never give a warning cry. 

Except when danger to themselves is nigh. 

Your offer proves that I am in your way, 

And knowing this, I am resolved to stay. 

1 have, in all the world, no other foe, 

And now I'm warned, I'll parry every blow. 

Your efforts, to be rid of me, proclaim. 

That you have learned my parentage and name ; 



152 The Lo^■ER,s. 

Tliat T am in your way, your acts confess ; 

And that Fve rights to claim, I shrewdly guess. 

Beneath my searching words, I see you squirm ; 

Your writhings, my suspicions but confirm. 

Your threats and sneers shall not my purpose change; 

And if I marry do not think it strange ! 

Step-fathers can't the rights of parents claim ; 

And Cora may, herself, her guardian name. 

The rights you arrogate, shall be defied, 

And Cora, ere a month, shall be my bride. 

I knoAV enough of law to thwart your plans, 

And you Avill find you can't forbid the bans. 

And I will seek and learn the reason why. 

You've tried to make me from the city fiy. 

I leave you now, but with determined aim, 

To solve the problem of my birth and name. 

[ Retires ] 

Col. Hall, alone : 

The youth is not devoid of grit and sense ! 
And I did wrong, to try to drive him hence. 
He has more nerve and courage than I thought ; 
His honesty is such as can't be bought. 
My silly rage and threats, I sorely rue, — 
But he's too young, to follow up the clue. 
My plans have failed — some other way I'll try, 
For Henry is determined not to fly. 
If he is slain, suspicion will arise, — 
But who'll suspicion me, if Orpah dies! 



The TjOVEhs. 153 

I fear her babbling tongue, and her's alone ; 
If she is dead, my crime can not be shown ; 
She knows the youth, ] so intensely hate, 
Is heir to this magnificent estate ; 
And if she speaks, I'm ruined and disgraced; 
So something must be done and that in haste 
To drive her off, will be an easy task ; 
I'll give her all the money she may ask, 
Excite her fears, and urge a hasty flight ; 
And if she dares my warning voice to slight, 
Her tongue shall he in death forever stilled, 
By poison, in the use of which, I'm skilled. 

Scene IY. — //; the Garden. 

Edward, alone : 

I'm almost wild, — and ere the trysting hour, 
I'll take my seat in Cora's sacred bower, 
To meditate and fix on some good plan, 
To thwart or circumvent, that faithless man. 
Why offer me a hundred pounds a year, 
Unless my presence gives him cause to ft^ar? 
Without a purjDose, he would never give, 
A sum, whereon, I might, in comfort, live. 
He says that I'm in danger, while I'm here : 
But he's the only man I've cause to fear. 
His threat of jails, I cannot understand ; 
It's not because I'm asking Cora's hand ; 
He does not love her, as I clearly see. 
But he objects, because of fear of me. 



154 The Lovers. 

{_Cora eiiters.'\ 

But here you are, — sit down and hear the news ; 

And when I've told you all, I want your views. 

Your grim step-father speaks with flashing eyes, 

And every boon I ask, with wrath denies. 

He bids me never more to speak to you. 

And tells me I must leave the city, too. 

He oflPers money,- — which 1 proudly spurn, — 

If I will leave the State and not return. 

And why he hates me so, I can't divine, 

Unless the large estate he claims, is mine. 

My presence, must, in some way, cause alarm ; 

Or why send me away, or do me harm ? 

To his intimidations, I replied. 

That threats and opposition were defied ; — 

That you could marry, just when you might choose; 

And would not heed him, if he did refuse. 

But when I said, perhaps the reason why, 

He wished me from my home and friends to fly, 

And hide in some far corner of the earth. 

Was just because he knew my name and birth, — 

And that, by skill and art, I would engage, 

To ascertain my birth and parentage, — 

He gasped for breath, — forgot his brazen look. 

And, like an aspen leaf, in terror shook. 

Through his demeanor, words and acts, I see. 

There's honor, wealth and name reserved for me. 



The Lovers. 155 

Cora : 

Your sentiments are just and true ; 

In all things I agree with you ; 

And lovingly, I've always known, 

. That wealth and honors were your own ; 

And these, with truth and moral worth, 

Can only come from nohle birth. 

1 had a cousin, I am told, 

Who lost his life when two years old ; 

It has been doubted if he died ; 

Indeed, by some it was denied 

The servants knew and loved him well, 

Yet seemed afraid the facts to tell ; 

But sometimes spoke, with bated breath, 

Of little Henry's awful death. 

His parents had unbounded wealth, 

But had no joy, from failing health ; 

And ere the child was one year old. 

His parents in their graves were cold. 

But Henry did not long survive. 

For he, 'twas said, was burned alive. 

The nurse escaped, though almost wild. 

But failed to save the wretched child. 

My mother, then, as heir, possessed 

The whole estate — you know the rest. 

Edward : 

Why, }'ou surprise me, Cora! Can it be, 

That this immense estate belongs to me ! 

If I am Henry, then, the reason's clear, 

Whv Colonel Hall would have me far from here. 



156 The Lovers. 

'Tis plain why he would have me go abroad, — 

Because he fears exposure of his fraud. 

But Where's the nurse that left the child to die : 

I'll hunt her up, and make her testify : 

I'll seek the servants in the house employed. 

And learn if Henr}'^ was indeed destroyed. 

Cora : 

The nurse, perhaps, is somewhere near; 
But of the others, none are here. 
Indeed, the servants of that day. 
Are dead, or have been sent away. 
But Orpah was the nurse's name, 
And though she seemed so much to blame. 
She stayed, and lived in style, they say; 
And may be dwelling here to-day. 

Edward : 

My duty is, to leave no stone unturned. 

Until my birth and parentage are learned. 

I know there's fraud, and mine shall be the task, 

To find the villains, and their schemes unmask. 

To-morrow, at this hour, — in this retreat, 

I'll make report of what success I meet. 

Scene V. — The Investigation. 
Orpah, alone: 

I quake with fear, — what can I do? 
That I must leave my home, is true. 
But when and where I am to go, 
And how to act, I do not know! 



The Lovers. 157 

I have no choice, but must conii)ly 
With Colonel Hall's demands, or die. 
He gave me gold to pay my fare, 
And bade me go, he cared not where ! 
And then, with stormy brow, he said, 
If two days hence I have not fled, 
The only way himself to save, 
Would be to send me to my grave. 
By poison, I shall surely die. 
If from my home I do not fly. 
Yes, Edward has a clue to trace, 
And will investigate the case : 
He'll come to me the first, I fear. 
The truth of Henry's death to hear ; 
And when 1 meet the injured youth, 
How can my tongue withhold the truth I 
But I must be possessed and bold. 
And that same story must be told. 
Yes, here he comes — I'll try hoAv well 
My brazen falsehood I can tell. 

Edivard enters and speaks : 

I come to see you, Orpah, and to know. 

If in the fire that happened long ago. 

Young Henry was consumed, as you have .said, — 

Or were you bribed to say that he was dead ? 

Orpah : 

I know that night he met his death : 
I'll swear it with my latest bieath. 



158 The Lo\'eks. 

Edwrad : 

How could it be, when not a bone was found, 
Though strictest search was made of all the ground ? 

Orpah : 

An infant's bones to dust would turn, 
Before a full-grown man's would burn. 

Edward : 

But if the child was burned, then tell me why, 
Did no one else but you, hear Henry cry ? 

Orpah : 

Because the child in death was dumb. 
Before a single soul had come. 

Edward : 

But did you not take Henry far away. 
And then return before the break of day ? 

Orpah : 

That night I spent at home, in bed, 
Till from the seething flames I fled. 

Edward : 

Now tell me, whose commands did you obey, 
And why the servants were, that night, away. 

Orpah : 

'Twas Colonel Hall who placed me there, 
And sent the rest, I don't know where. 



The Lovers. 159 

Edward : 

To whom did Henry's lands and money go ? 
And say — hoAV much did he on you bestow ? 

Orpah : 

To Colonel Hall the money went, 
And I was never paid a cent. 

Edward : 

You've lived in style : Now tell me whence 
The money came, to pay such large expense? 

Orpah : 

My mother's money since she died 
Has all my frugal wants supplied. 

Edivard : 

Your mother died but twelve months since, they say : 
Then whence was your supply, before that day ? 

Orpah : 

My labor then supplied my need ; 
And I have but myself to feed. 

Edward : 

Your house, alone, is worth ten thousand pounds, 
And thousands more were spent upon your grounds ; 
Pray, tell me whence such sums of money came ? 
You do not speak, but hang your head in shame ! 
Now, does not Colonel Hall, by contract, give, 
The sums on which you so profusely live? 
But you confess by silence, and by tears, 
That Colonel Hall has paid your bills for years ! 



160 The Lovers. 

But where is Henry ? — tell me now, in time ; 
For if he lives, you can't be charged with crime. 
It is not murder, if you saved the youth. 
You are not perjured, if you speak the truth. 
Then tell me all, and I'll be just and kind ; 
But if you're false, no mercy you shall find. 

Orpah : 

To-morrow I will tell the whole, 
And ask for mercy on my soul ! 

Edtvard : 

But tell me, did not Colonel Hall, to-day, 
Demand with threats, that you should go away ? 

Orpah : 

O, leave me now, — for mercy, go ! 
And I will tell you all I know ! 

Edward : 

One question more, and^I am through, to-day : 
Am I the infant boy you stole away ? 

Orpah : 

come again, and if I live. 

The truth, and all the truth, I'll give ! 

Edward : 

To-morrow, then, I'll meet you here, again. 
And learn how you these mysteries explain. 



The Lovers. 161 

Scene VI. — The Lovers in the Garden. 

Edward to Cora : 

I saw the nurse that stole away the child, 

And left her yesterday, alarmed and wild. 

At first, she boldly everything denied; 

But when exposed, she hid her face and cried. 

By silence, and by sighs, she almost said 

What we believe — that Henry is not dead. 

She promised she would freely tell me all, 

If at her residence, to-day, I'd call. 

I'm well convinced our theory is tru(% 

And shall, with buoyant heart, my searcli renew. 

But here is Amos, — see, he runs this way. 

We'll wait and hear what he has got to say. 

Amos enters and speaks : 

A messenger has been by Orpah sent, 
To say she's poisoned, and ere life is spent. 
She would confess an awful crime to you, 
And with her dying breath, declare it true. 
She sa}'S she wants a notar}^ from town, 
To take her dying declarations down. 

Edward : 

I feared as much — the schemer knew full well, 
If Orpah lived, she would the secret tell. 
Before she dies, Ave'll hasten to her bed. 

And learn if Henry is alive or dead. 

\^All leave.'] 



162 The Lovers. 

Scene VII. — Orpah's Dying Declarations. 

Edward to Orpah: 

Come Orpah, tell me, is the story true, 

That some one, since we parted, poisoned you ? 



Orpah 



It is, and Colonel Hall's the one, 
By whom this cruel deed was done. 
He came to me on y ester-morn. 
And by his money, threats and scorn. 
Prevailed upon my fears to say. 
That I at once would go away. 
I thought that death would be my doom, 
And in a state of ray less gloom, 
I met with you, and as of old, 
The tale of Henry's death was told. 
But when you said that, at that time, 
I was not guilty of a crime, 
And that the truth, however late, 
Would save me from a culprit's fate, 
My heart was fixed the truth to speak. 
Restore to you, the rights you seek, 
And by repentance, purge the wrong, 
Which you have borne from me so long. 
But walls have ears, and every word 
We spoke, that hour, was overheard : 
For Colonel Hall was hiding near, 
And what we said, could plainly hear. 



The Lovers 163 

And when you left, an angry storm 

Exploded on my crouching form. 

By bribes and threats, he vainly tried, 

To make me leave at once, or hide — 

Then changed his course — became polite, 

And stayed to sup with^ me, at night. 

tie said it would be just as well. 

For both of us the truth to tell, — 

That you'd divide with us, he knew, 

And pay us well, if we were true. 

But when my back was turned, he spread 

A fatal poison on my bread. 

I ate it, and physicians say, 

I cannot live throughout the day. 

But I must breathe awhile, before, 

I'm strong enough to tell you more. 

Edward : 

Now tell the truth when you have gained your breath : 
Was Henry in the house, and burned to death ; 
Or were you bribed, and did you falsely, say, 
He died, when he in truth was borne away ? 
Before you die, announce the lawful heir, 
Reveal the truth, and strip the villain bare. 

Orpah : 

With dying breath, I now i)roclaim. 
That Henry is your proper name. 
With Henry, I was left to stay ; 
But in the darkness stole away. 



164 The Loveks. 

I bore the infant on my arm, 
And left it at a neighboring farm. 
I then, in trembling fear, returned, 
And by my hand the house was burned. 
For Colonel Hall this deed was done. 
And thus his boundless wealth was won. 
He paid me, and I falsely said. 
That Henry, (that is you,) was dead. 
The farmer for his care, was paid. 
And asked no questions, but obeyed. 
With dying breath, I now declare, 
That you are Henry and the heir. 
I trust the notary has heard. 
And has recorded every word. 
And now my mortal race is run, 
1 die in peace, — my duty's done ! 

Scene VIII. — The Lovers in the Park. 

Henry to Cora : 

A month has passed away since Orpah died, 
And Colonel Hall committed suicide. 
Of father's vast estate, I've gained control, 
And now am in possession of the whole. 
My lands and bonds all estimates transcend, 
And half my income we can never spend. 
We have an ample fund to use or waste, — 
To please your whims, or gratify your taste. 
I'll fix no narrow bounds for your expense, 
So, let your drafts, without delay, commence. 



Cora . 



The Lovers. 165 

But let distress and want your bounty share; 
For charity, we've boundless wealth to spare; 
Let works of usefulness your thoughts employ, 
And you'll be blessed, by bringing others joy. 
When blessings come, 'tis often that they pour ! 
My wealth brings blessings, but thy love brings more ! 
I have no wish for wealth, except for thee ; 
And what is joy to you, is bliss to me. 
The wedding da}^ you've fixed, three months ahead; 
Oh how I wish those tardy months were fled ! 
But love, on rapid wing, bears time away, 
And in thy smile, a month is but a day. 

But short, the three months time will seem, 

And prove delightful as a dream. 

We want ten days in every week, 

To give us time our love to speak. 

The dismal days of winter time, 

Are short, we know, in every clime: 

The merry summer days are long. 

But prove too short for love and song. 

Now let my gratitude be sung, 
With bounding heart, and gushing tongue! 

Cora's song : anticipated pleasures. 
The joys of to-day, 
Fly swiftly away, 
No pleasure will stay ; 
liut hope never leaves us, we find. 
- 11 — 



166 The Lovers. 



For truly, 'twas eaid, 
When blessings had fled, 
And pleasures were dead, 
"Twas Hope, that still lingered behind. 

The past gave us pain, 

The present is vain, 

But Hope will maintain. 
That good will hereafter be ours. 

It quiets our fears. 

It dries up our tears. 

It blesses and cheers, 
And carpets our pathway with flowers. 

A rose in your room, 

Will open its bloom. 

And shed its perfume. 
To cheer you from day unto day ; 

But pull the sweet Hower, — 

It loses its power. 

To please in an hour ; 
Yet this is fruition, they say ! 

Our bliss will enhance, 

When forward we glance, 

And taste in advance, 
The joys, in the future, as 3'et ; 

But pleasure, when past. 

As pain, may be classed, 

And brings us at last, 
Annoyance, disgust or regret. 



The Love us. 167 

The storms we've passed through, 

Will make us more true, 

And never we'll rue, 
The months that in wooing we passed. 

In courtship we taste 

The pleasures they waste, 

Who marry in haste, 
And sorely repent at the last. 

henry's reply: long enga(;ements. 

The wedding day, selected, 

Is made remote, you say, 
That bliss so long expected. 

May gladden every day. 
But if anticipation 

So gratifies and cheers. 
How sweet the long probation. 

Of Jacob's fourteen years. 

In heaven they never marry ; 

The cause, you think, is this: — 
That while the lovers tarry. 

They have unbounded l)liss. 
If this is your position. 

And hope's the greatest joy, 
You clearly make fruition. 

Our happiness destroy. 

Tliere's nothing half so grating, 
As promised good deferred. 



168 The Lovers. 

Ko plague afflicts like waiting, 
On hope's deceptive word. 

So, haste the happy season. 

When I can call thee mine; 

Or give some better reason. 

Why I should wait and pine. 

Scene IX. — Two years later : Henry and Cora. 
Henry: 

The course of love is never smooth, they say ; 
So ours was rough, but all is calm to-day. 
Three years ago, I had no home to claim, 
No parents, kindred, property nor name. 
An outcast on the world, no friend I knew, 
• And none who honored, — none who loved, but you. 
While others turned a scornful eye on me, 
I found a true and loving friend in thee. 
Ambition in my soul possessed no place, 
Until I read approval in your face. 
Inspired by love, I rose, resolved to press. 
My wa3% through toils and dangers, to success 
Though numberless discouragements arose, 
I still pursued the upward path I chose. 
I'pon a cold and heartless city thrown, 
My parents and my relatives unknown, — 
Without a friend to give advice or aid, 
Against me malice, power and wealth, arrayed. 
With none to cheer, and thousands to despise. 
It seemed presumptuous, to attempt to rise. 



The Lovehs. 169 

But Truth, though often wounded, still prevails, 
And tardy Justice halts but never fails. 
When on my name the clouds of falsehood spread, 
The beams of Truth were on my pathway shed ; 
And when my fortune perjured knaves obtain. 
The scales of Justice made all right again. 
So now, I'm honored, as of noble birth. 
And we've the wealth and luxuries of earth. 
But that which brings most happiness to me, 
Is that I've found a faithful heart in thee. 



Cora . 



Yes, Truth and Justice brought us joy, 

And God bestowed a darling boy. 

I loved you, when I thought you poor. 

And wealth can't make me love you more. 

For I beheld, as all see, now. 

Nobility upon your brow. 

And I believed, yea, almost knew, 

That wealth and fame belonged to you. 

My mother finds in life, new charms, 

With cherub, Harry, in her arms. 

And when the child and "grandma" play. 

The twain, alike, are young and gay. 

Now let us sing of love that rises, 
Above all rules, and law despises : 



170 The Lovers. 



CORA S SONG : LONE KNOWS NO LAW. 

Some think that the heart, like a measure, 

When full, nothing more can contain 
That when it is filled with one treasure, 

No room, for aught else, will remain. 
But love is not known as a science ; 

It yields to no law or decree ; 
But sets every rule at defiance. 

And nol)ly resolves to be free. 

My love is supreme for my mother, — 

Her heart is my home, as from birth, - 
For when she is taken, no other 

Can stand in her ])lace upon earth. 
My husband and child may be taken, 

And others their places supply ; 
But I'll be forever forsaken. 

Whenever my mother shall die. 

My love is supreme for my Harry, — 

The darling so sprightly and gay. 
With prayer for a blessing, I carry. 

His name unto God, every day. 
The heart of a mother expandeth, 

As child after child has a place. 
It swells as the number demandeth, 

And each fills the whole of the space. 



The Loveks. 171 

I love my good husband, extremely, 

And what he advises, I do. 
I honor and trust him supremely, 

And never have found him untrue. 
The feeling of love for my mother, 

Don't take from my husband and son. 
Though greatly alike to each other. 

Those feelings are clearly not one. 

1 show that I love my Creator, 

By loving whatever there is ; 
My love for my Savior is greater. 

By loving whatever is His. 
So loving and blessing each other. 

We love the Redeemer above ; 
And loving my child or my mother. 

Is showing me greatest of love. 




MAMIE'S SONGS MD GRUNDPS'S 

STORY, 



Come, Mamie, sit upon my knee, 

And tell your joys and cares to me. 

It makes me happy, gay and young, 

To hear my grandchild's prattling tongue. 

But first, my child must sing to me 

Some merry song, or sparkling glee. 

Mamie's song : i want to be a child forever. 

I always want to be a child. 

If mother would not scold me ; 
But will, when I am rude and wild, 

Upon her bosom fold me. 
I want the people that I meet. 

To fondle and caress me. 
I want them all to say, I'm sweet, 

And take me up and press me. 

I like on grandpa's knee to ride. 
For I've no fear of falling ; 

When brother seeks, I like to hide. 
And run when sister's calling. 



Mamie's Song and Gkandpas Story. 173 

I want to be just as I am — 

A darling sweet and clever ; 
I want to be my mother's lamb, 

And be a child forever 

Now, grandpa, since I've sung for you, 
Tell me a story, droll and true. 

grandpa's story of little lela. 

When I was young, I knew a child, 

Obedient, faithful, true and mild. 

She was her mother's life and joy. 

And helped her nurse her infant boy. 

The mother's rented room was found. 

Two stories high, above the ground ; 

And there her needle earned the bread. 

On which her humble household fed. 
One night, a neighbor came to ask, 

The mother's help upon a task. 

That had been promised should be done, 

Before the rising of the sun. 

The mother rose, but turned to state, 

That she'd be back again at eight. 

She placed her hand on Lela's head, 
■' And you must tend the child," she said, 
" And gaily with him romp and play, 

And watch him well, while I'm away. 

But I'll be back," she said, " at eight. 

You must not fear — I won't be late ; 



174 Mamie's Song and Grandpa's Story. 

And <lo not leave till I return, 
But stay, although the house should burn." 
The maiden answered, as she smiled, 

" I do not fear — I'll guard the child. 
So close the door and turn the lock, 
I'll nurse the boy and watch the clock. 
I know I will not have to wait, 
A half a minute after eight." 

The children left alone, were gay, 
And spent a happy hour at play. 
But ere the time, appointed, came, 
The house below was in a flame. 
All access to the children's floor, 
Was barred by fire and bolted door. 
The maiden heard the wild alarm, 
But while on duty, feared no harm. 
She raised the window, — looked without, 
And heard a frantic fireman shout, 

" Here, bring a ladder, — save the child ! " 
A dozen men, with gestures wild. 
Dashed to the spot and begged the girl, 
The infant from her arms to hurl. 

" We'll catch it, as it falls," they said, 

" Nor hurt a hair upon it's head." 
But Lela did not fear the flame, 
She'd w^ait, she said, till mother came. 
A frenzy seemed to seize the crowd, 
A hundred voices cried aloud, 

" The infant must at once be tossed, 
And you must follow, or be lost." 



Mamie's Song and Grandpa s Story. 175 

A fireman told her that the wall, 

Two minutes from that time, would fall. . 

But Lela seemed quite unconcerned. 

Yet to the clock, again, she turned, 

And said, ''I'll have to wait 

One minute, only, till 'tis eight ; 

My mother told me I mvist sta}^ 

And though we die, I shall obey.'' 

A thousand faces, Hushed and wild, 
Were turned upon the faithful child. 
Who proved that constancy and truth. 
Had been instilled from early youth. 
And now the flames burst through the floor; 
A stifling smoke has passed the door. 
The bed has caught, — the crowd exclaim. 
She's circled in a wreath of fiame ! " 
With lifted hands and bated breath, 
They wait the stroke of certain death. 

But lo ! in wild and frantic pace, 
A woman dashes to the place : 
No word is spoken, — all is still, 
But hopes through every l)Osom thrill. 
The mother lifts her hands and eyes ; 
A thousand prayers ascend the skies ; 
Her arms receive her infant boy ; 
She clasps him with a mother's jo}^ ; 
Again she lifts her outstretched hands ; 
Speaks not a word — gives no commands ; 



176 Mamie's Song and Grandpa's Story. 

But Lela from her window springs — 
Is gently borne on angel wings, 
And finds a downy place of rest. 
Upon her faithful mother's breast. 

And then is heard a cheery voice : 
" Since both are saved, let all rejoice." 
And while the tottering walls descend, 
And lurid skies, like brass, impend, 
The crowd their cheering voices raise, 
And good and pious souls give praise. 

Sweet Lela reigned for one short week : 
For every friend must kiss her cheek. 
And say, as through their tears they smiled, 
" She's more an angel than a child." 

Now, Mamie, since my story's through, 
I'll ask another song of you. 

Mamie's song: "i want to be a woman." 

I want to be a woman, 

And always have my way ; 
I think it is inhuman, 

To make a child obey. 
But I shall take my pleasure, 

When I'm of age, and free ; 
I'll then have boundless treasure, 

And happiness I'll see. 

My dresses shall be splendid. 
For none will dare oppose, 



Mamie's Song and Grandpa's Story 



177 



And I shall be attended, 

By troops of lovesick beaux. 
No more the Avood I'll carry, 

No more I'll go to school, 
And when I'm old, I'll marry. 

And then, I guess, I'll rule ! 




THE FOUNTAIN OF THE KNGEL 



The soul that shall gice, in the name of the Lord, 
A cap of cold water, shall hare Iiis reward. 



A fountain beside an old highvva}^ 

'Neath Italy's radiant skies, 
The thirst of the weary wayfarer, 

With cool and sweet water supplies. 
Here thousands now drink of the water, 

And bless the good name of the saint. 
Who gave them this well-spring of pleasure, 

To gladden the weary and faint. 

The fountain is walled in with marbU'. 

And basins and goblets are near ; 
A hand points the way to the Avater, 

A hermit gives welcome and cheer ; 
Above it, in Parian marble, 

An angel invitingly stands, 
And offers a cup to a beggar, 

Who takes it with joy from her hands. 



The Fountain of the Angel. 179 

A hospital crowns a near hill-top, 

Where pilgrims find lodging and cheer; 
And guarding the fountain, the hermit 

Bids wayfarers freely draw near. 
He quenches their thirst with cool water, — 

Assigns them commodious seats, — 
And thus, to the listening pilgrims. 

The myth of the fountain repeats : 

" A legend of Italy tells us, 

That far in the past, this estate 
Belonged to a rich man, whose spirit 

Was filled with resentment and hate. 
He placed at this fountain a servant. 

And no one was suffered to drink ; 
And pilgrims, who came to its waters, 

Were rudely repulsed from its brink. 

" When, ofttimes, a weary sojourner, 

Oppressed by the heat of the day, 
Would plaintively beg for the water, 

The rich man would drive him away. 
These deeds, so inhuman and fiendish. 

To heaven for punishment cried : 
But some of the angels believed it. 

Whilst others the story denied. 

" But Mercy, the fairest of angels, 

Averred that the charge was untrue: — 
For none, but the basest of mortals. 

An act of such meanness would do. 



180 The Fountain of the Angel. 

She said she would dress as a beggar, 
And, weary and footsore, pass by, 

And see if the man would, in harshness, 
A cup of cold water deny. 

" With rags her bright vestments were covered, 
A hood hid her shimmering hair; 
Her face with a mask was enveloped,- 

Her feet unprotected and bare. 
She came like a famishing beg^^ar, 
And lifted her piteous cry : 
' 0, give me a cup of cold water — 
0, bring me a drink, or I die ! ' 

" This touching appeal to the servant. 

Brought only a jibe and a scoff; 
And lifting his sabre, the monster, 

With cursing and threats, drove her ott. 
But Mercy, reproachfully turning, 

Appealed to the master to save ; 
And begged she might dip but her finger, 

And cool her parched tongue with the wave. 

" The master, in language unfeeling, 

And harsh as the servant's, replied : 
' Begone ! for 'twas I gave the order 
That water to all be denied. 
Go, drink at the city's foul sewer. 

And wash your habiliments there ; 
No beggar shall taste of this fountain. 
Away ! or I'll drive thee, I swear ! ' 



The Fountain of the Anc^el. 181 

" 0, say not to me, the immortals 

Can show no resentment or ire ! 
For Mercy was writhing with anger, — 

Her eyes were resplendent with fire : 
She cast the vile rags from her person, 

Exposed her bright vestments and face. 
And uttered a strong imprecation, 

Of suffering, woe and disgrace : 

" 'The pity from others withholden, 

No more, for a time, shall be thine; 
The water refused to the pilgrims, 

Shall turn at thy touch into brine : 
Long years of afflictions and sorrow. 

Shall teach thee the claims of the i)oor ; 
And till thou hast proved thyself worthy. 

With thirst thou shalt burn evermore ! ' 

" The angel ascended to heaven ; 

The rich man fell })rone to the ground ; 
The pangs of his conscience Avere fearful, — 

His shame and contrition, profound. 
The servant, while watching his master. 
In Mercy's own words heard him cry : 
' 0, give me a cup of cold water — 
0, bring me a drink, or I die ! ' 

"The servant rushed down to the fountain, 
And brought him the water in haste : 
His master snatched wildly the goblet. 
And took from its brim but a taste; 
— \2 — 



182 The Fountain of the Angel 

And, dashing it back at the servant, 

He hoarsely exclaimed: ' I'm undone! 

The water to brine is converted ; — 
My curse has already begun ! " 

•' No water, except from the sewer, 

The rage of his thirst would allay : 
So waters — foul, filthy and fetid, 

Were brought for his use every day : 
Thus huml)led, distressed and afflicted, 

His conscience would give him no rest : 
He therefore made public the fountain. 

And made every pilgrim his guest. 

" Whilst others had daily pure water, — 

He drank from the trough with the swine 
At night whilst his thirst was consuming, — 

He furnished the pilgrims good wine . 
Through years of affliction and penance. 

He strove to atone for his sin. 
And drew to his mansion the beggars. 

And gathered the wanderers in. 

" One day, as he stood by the fountain. 

A female in tatters drew near; 
He tenderly offered her water, 

And bade her approach without fear. 
She stretched forth her hand for the goblet, 

And dipping it full to the brink, 
She handed it back to the rich man, 

And pleasantly- Ijade him to drink. 



The Fou^"TAIN of the Angel. 163 

•' He tasted the water thus handed, 

And lol 'twas refreshing and sweet: 
He knew in a moment the angel, 

And fell, with a cry, at her feet. 
She cast off her mendicant garments, 

A nd stood as an angel of light : 
Encouraged and charmed by her presence, 

He bowed more in hope than affright. 

' ' Rejoice,' she exclaimed, ' thou art pardoned ! 

Thine alms and th}'- prayers we have known.' 
Thy charities, now, are sufficient, 

For all of thy sins to atone ; 
The water thou touchest, no longer, 

Shall turn on thy tongue into brine ; 
Go! Still be the friend of the needy, 

And many blest years shall be thine.' 

*• The rich man had ended his penance; — 

lie drank at the fountain his fill; 
His wealth was to charity given ; — 

A hospital rose on the hill ; 
He went as an almoner daily, — 

Gave help to the needy and faint : 
He died full of years and of honors ; 

And now he's a canonized saint. 

•'And I," says the hermit, concluding, 
'' Am paid by the rich man's estate 
To welcome the weary wayfarers, 
And to them my stor}' relate. 



184 The Fountain of the Angel. 

Now go to the hospital yonder, 

A servant, you'll find at the door, 

To honor and lodge every pilgrim, 
And offer relief to the poor.'" 

The hermit has finished his stor3\ 

But points to a tablet of stone, 
Whose legend embodies the wisdom, 

The saint to the world would make known 
It reads: " He who gives to the needy, 

Lends safely his gold to the Lord ; 
And he that bestows but cold water, 

Shall surely receive his reward.'' 



THE ORPHSN. or THE LOST LAMB, 



Written for flic Caiiidcn-Point Orphan School. 



PART I. — IN THE FOLD. 

The dawn of 1113^ life, with its sunshine and gladnef^.s, 
Gave 2)lace, for a season, to sorrow and sadness ; 
But now, not a cloud can be seen in my skies; 
And hope round my pathway exultingly flies. 
In days of my childhood my parents were near me, 
And kindred were eager to fondle and cheer me ; 
My friends seemed as pure as the angels above, 
And home was an Eden of virtue and love. 

The tears a fond mother lets fall for her daughters, 

Are pure as the pearls from Arabian waters. 

The humblest of fathers bestows on his son, 

A blessing more precious than gold ever won. 

Such blessings and tears were for me in my childhood, 

When guided by parents through garden and wildwood. 

Or led by my brother through parlor and hall, 

I reigned in the household and ruled over all. 

To parties and feasts I was always invited ; 
In pleasures, amusements and games I united ; 



186 The Orphan. 

Indulgence and flattery fostered my pride, 

And all that I wanted my parents supplied. 

I dwelt in this garden until I was seven, 

When death my fond parents transported to heaven ; 

My brother soon joined them, where death is unknown, 

And I, as a waif, among strangers was thrown. 

PART II. — LOST ON THP: MOUNTAINS. 

How sad and changed was my condition ; 
I lost my home and high position ; 
And now the friends who once were kind. 
Forgot the child who wept and pined. 
From place to place, in harshness driven — 
Half starved, and scanty clothing given, 
I sometimes had to beg my bread. 
And rest on straw m}' aching head. 

For years I heard no kind wori spoken — 
Received no kiss— no loving token ; 
No face in sweet approval smiled, 
Upon the lonely orphan child ; 
No loving eye with moisture glistened, 
No sympathetic hearer listened, 
No mother pressed me to her heart, 
No yearning father took my part. 

With neither friends nor home, I wandered. 
And sadly on the future pondered. 
Companions tried in vain to win, 
And turn my feet, to ways of sin. 



The Orphan. 187 

Yet no kind hand my footsteps guided; 
No friendly voice advised or chided ; 
I had not found the house of prayer, 
And no one asked, or led me there. 

PART irr. — FOUND AND RESTORED. 

At length, when my life had grown cheerless and weary — 
When earth seemed a waste, and the sky ai)peared dreary — 
I found me a refuge to shield me from harm — 
A home that was cozy — a heart that was warm. 
A dear christian mother had lost a sweet daughter; 
And I, to console her, in sympathy sought her. 
I wept on her bosom — I joined in her prayer. 
And told her my story of sorrow and care. 

Our lots were congenial, — we suited each other : 
She wanted a daughter, — I wanted a mother; 
We learned in each other to fully confide, 
And I took the place of the child that had died. 
She calls me her darling, her pride, and her treasure ; 
And I, too, have found a rich well spring of pleasure. 
Ah. mother ! I hope I shall recompense thee. 
For all the affection you've lavished on me. 

My mother, in all things, by angels was guided. 
And came with me here, where the Lord has provided 
A school for the orphan — a home for the poor, 
With hearts to encourage, and hands to restore: 



18S 



The Orphan. 



Here hundreds of maiden^! — once poor and neglected 
Have grown into women, beloved and respected : 
And since all my blessings to mercy I owe, 
I'll go and do likewise, and mercy bestow. 




THE SLANDERER. 



An honored name is more desired, 

Than riches, health, or pleasure; 
For men, with crowns and wreaths, inspired, 

Have squandered life and treasure 
The man of science spends his life, 

Mid danger and privation ; 
And heroes fall on fields of strife, 

Spurred on by emulation. 

The noblest purpose of our race — 

Man's holiest aspiration — 
Is to attain the loftiest place, 

And fill an honored station. 
To reach the highest niche of fame. 

He strives with generous ardor. 
And every honor to his name. 

Will make him work the harder. 

Yes, honor is the guiding star, 

That sheds a genial fire, — 
And scatters beams of light afar. 

To point the hero higher ; 



190 The Slanderer. 

And slander is the serpent's breath, 
That hisses vile suspicion, 

That stifles hope, in slini}' death. 
And crushes man's ambition. 

The man of health and goods bereft, 

Is proud and independent ; 
For while his character is left, 

His wealth is still transcendent. 
But let the world despise his name, 

And no man honor render, — 
Though boundless wealth and power he claim. 

He's wretched, in his splendor. 

Men who have rank and note received. 

Performed their deeds for glorv ; 
And they who have most good achieved. 

Have hoped to live in story. 
Then if, from thirst for peerless fame, 

So much of good's effected, 
We all should prize a worthy name. 

And see it Avell respected. 

Traducers are but poorly paid — 

Get nothing ior their labor ; 
They work to injure and degrade, — 

Not elevate their neighbor ; 
And when their bitter words we hear. 

In hate and envy spoken. 
Let's heed them not, but rather fear. 

The ninth CommandnHmt broken. 



The Slanderer. 191 

Change half the evil words we hear, 

To terms, good will expressing, 
And earth would be a blissful sphere, 

And human life a blessing. 
But slander, clothed in evil pall, 

Brings pain and disappointment. 
And sneers turn sweetness into gall, — 

As dead Hies spoil the ointment. 

How base the villian who, for gain, 

A worthy man abuses : 
Or urged by envy to complain. 

The innocent accuses ! 
He who has hurt a worthy name, 

( )r well earned reputation. 
Should hide his head in abject shame. 

And deep humiliation. 

We have but one chill blast to face, 

While crossing Death's dark river 
But on the ocean of disgrace, 

The surges roll forever. 
Yet innocence will ride the waves. 

And reach a peaceful haven, 
But guilt in fear and madness raves, 

And sinks a trembling craven. 

The mind that's conscious that it's right, 

Will proudly scorn detraction ; 
Though knaves and slanderers unite, 

In one malignant faction. 



192 



The Slanderer. 



And conscious innocence, though crushed, 
Like truth, shall rise elated ; 

And o'er its foes, with victory flushed, 
With laurels shall l)e sated. 




ROBBIE RM AND LELA LEE, 



- OK 



THE PRO&RESS OF LO¥E. 



First Scene. — Before Meeting. 

ROBBIE. 

They tell me that love is a painful sensation, — 

A poison that festers and withers the heart ; 
But I'm not allured by its fraud and temptation ; 

And beauty can't captivate me by its art. 
Experience tells me that woman is hateful ;— 

Devoid of the virtues of honor and truth. 
I've found her conceited, unjust and ungrateful. 

And prone to deceive, from the days of her youth. 

The simpers and tears of no siren can harm me! 

I'm proof against all that the fairest can bring ! 
Though love be a serpent, its eye cannot charm me, 

And scarcely I fear it, though fatal its sting. 
The arrows of Cupid their poison may scatter. 

Soft Hymen may lure me with glittering chain. 
And loveliest maidens may wheedle and flatter, 

Yet, tried upon me, their temptations are vain. 



194 Robbie Ray and Lela Lek. 

LELA. 

I'm free as the breezes that sport on the ocean. — 

As willful as swallows that dash through the air : 
To Liberty's goddess I pay my devotion, 

And bow at the altar of Vesta for prayer. 
I'll never submit to be yoked to another; 

No man shall rule me while my senses remain ; 
'Twas galling enough to be ruled by my mother, 

And love is too weak to enslave me again. 

Whenever you vow that a husband you'll cherish. 

Your pleasures are half, and you double your care- 
Your wishes are thwarted — ambition will perish. 

And you have your husband's afflictions to bear. 
No man upon earth can induce me to marry, 

And forfeit my freedom and half of my joy : 
No, let me be free, with no burden to carry. 

Xo master to serve, and no cares to annoy ! 

^^EcoNi) Scene. — After the Parties hod Met. 

ROBBIE. 

Lela seems to be so charming I 

Oh, that I could but believe ! 
Truth, in woman, is alarming! 

By it she can best deceive. 
Can one be so sweet and winning, 

Yet be false and wholly vile? 
I must watch, lest thus beginning, 

She bewitch me by her smile. 



Robbie Ray and Lela Lee. 195 

LELA. 

Robbie .seems to be perfection, — 

Gallant, brilliant, fair and tall ; 
He might win my heart's atfection, 

If that heart couM love at all. 
But he's touched some thought or feeling, 

That I never knew before ! 
And I find my heart's revealing 

Passions I can but deplore ! 

TiiiKi) Scene. — After Screral MceloKjs. 

ROBBIE, 

Yes, Lela is a lovely girl, — 

The fairest T have ever seen ; 
Yet I am but a rustic churl. 

While she appears a radiant (lueen. 
I never thought that beauty's eye 

Could thrill and move my inmost soul : 
I never thought that beauty's sigh 

Could win me to its soft control ; 
I never thought that beauty's hand 

Could bind and lead me at its will ; 
But now I wait on its command, 

And every word and order fill. 

LELA. 

I'm happy, yet I'm in distress ! 

I did not know my own weak heart ! 
That Lm in love, I must confess. 

And stung by Cupid's fatal dart. 



196 Robbie Ray and Lela Lee. 

I'm humified and perplexed to find 

■ That I am captured and enslaved. 
I thought I hated all mankind, 

And only peace and freedom craved. 
Oh Robbie, idol of my soul. 

My throbbing heart is true to thee! 
I'll sweetly bow to thy contrcjl, 

And in thy S3rvice, I'll be free. 

Fourth Scene. — The Bctrothnl. 

KOBHIE. 

My darling Lela, I am wholly thine; 

And 3^et my love has not been spoken. 
Around thine image my affections twine. 

But from thy lips I've had no token. 
Now canst thou not some word of comfort give, 

That in my heart will hope awaken ? 
For in thy radiant smile I wish to live — 

Without it I must die forsaken. 
Come, speak some word that will your lover bless 

I ask you only to enslave me ! 
I'll surely sink in troubled waves unless 

You stretch your lovely hand and save me. 

lela. 

Arise, and hear the word by which you live, 

And let anxiety be ended: 
That word is "yes," and this I gladly give, 

And clasp the noble hand extended. 



Robbie Ray and Lela Lke. I97 

Henceforth a new existence shall be ours; 

These spirits shall in one be blended : 
We'll strew each other's path with fragrant floAvers, 

Till life in heavenly bliss is ended. 
Go forth and reap in every fruitful field, 

And garner knowledge, fame and treasure; 
And every honor you shall gain, will yield 

To her you love, a feast of pleasure. 

Fifth Sce^e.— The Lovers Walk in (he Fields. 

ROBBIE. 

Come, walk in the garden with me, 
And gather the pink and the rose ; 

Both flowers are symbols of thee ; — 
Thy sweetness and beauty disclose. 

LELA. 

No, come to the woods with me now ; 

The laurel and palm tree are there : 
The laurel shall circle your brow, 

And branches of palm you shall bear. 

ROBBIE. 

Yes, branches of myrtle we'll take, 

And pluck from the orange its flower ; 

With these, in the forest, we'll make 
A lover's delectable bower. 



198 RoisBiE Kay and Lela Lee. 

LELA. 

How sweet and romantic it seems, 
To dwell in an Eden so fair. 

Though clothed in the fabric of dreams, 
I'm ready to go with you there. 

Si.\Tii Scene. — The Boat Ride. 

ROBBIE. 

What so sweet and so inspiring, 

As this tranquil bay to-night I 
Here I sit, the scene admiring, 

While thy presence makes it bright. 
In this hallowed moonlight, lassie. 

Sing a tender song for me ; — 
On these Avaters, still and glassy. 

Sing, my charming Lela Lee. 

LELA. 

See, inverted skies around us ; 

On a sea of glass we ride ! 
See, above, below, around us, 

Stars appear on every side ! 
Jacob's ladder is extending 

From the moon upon the bay ; 
Angels, for us, are descending. 

Come, we'll go, dear Robbie Ray. 



Robbie Ray and Lela Lee. 199 

ROBBIE. 

No, but let us dwell forever, 

In this state of rapt delight ; 
For if death our bodies sever, 

We'll again in heaven unite. 
Music on the water floating, 

Seems like angel's songs to me. . 
So, while on the bay we're boating, 

Sing, my charming Lela Lee. 

lela. 

Music cheers in pain and sadness; 

Songs more tears than smiles will bring : 
In this hour of sacred gladness. 

Ask me not, my dear, to sing. 
Love is sweet, but grave and pensive, — 

Never sprightly, blithe or gay : 
Mine for thee is so intensive, 

I can't sing, dear Robbie Ray! 

Seventh Scene. — The Quarrel. 

ROBBIE. 

Now, Lela, let us fix the day 

When we shall be united ; 
Two weeks is long enough delay. 

That friends mav be invited. 



200 Robbie Ray and Lela Lee. 

LELA. 

Now, Robbie, never did I dream. 
You'd want so soon to marry ! 

For I've been always taught to deem 
Two years the time to tarry. 

ROBBIE. 

You surely don't demand of me, 
Like Jacob, years of waiting ! 

Then from your promise you are free,- 
We'll part, however grating. 

LELA. 

Just as 3^ou please, — I don't intend 

To wed in such a hurry ! 
'Tis better our betrothal end 

Than life be made a worry ! 

Eighth Scene. — The Reconciliation. 

ROBBIE. 

Dear Lela, pardon I implore ! 

My words in haste were spoken ! 
I come to beg that we restore 

The pledges lately broken. 

LELA. 

I've suffered, Robbie, more than you ! 

My heart grew faint from sorrow ! 
And now, to prove that I am true. 

I'll marry you to-morrow. 



Robbie Ray and Lela Lee. 201 



ROBBIE. 



And is my wedding day so soon I 
My darling acts discreetly. 

So here's my hand, — we'll wed at noon, 
You've acted well and sweetly. 



LELA. 



And then a trip across the sea,— 
A honeymoon of pleasure ! 

And Robbie shall forever be. 
My idol and my treasure. 

Ninth Scene. — After Marriage : Conclusion. 

ROBBIE. 

Lela, vows have now been spoken, 

And the words that made us one. 
Never let those vows be broken, 

Nor the golden clasp undone. 
Streams of bliss and vales of beauty 

Spread before our ravished eyes ! 
But along the path of duty, 

Rugged rocks and hills arise. 
• 

Let us press where virtue leadeth ; 

Seek the right and dare maintain ; 
Kindly hear, when mercy pleadeth ; 

And through life let justice reign. 



202 Robbie Eay and Lela Lee. 

Then we'll find, when age assaileth, 
We shall still be blessed with love. 

And when this existence endeth, 
Treasures wait our souls above. 

LELA. 

Cease to prate of death and duty ! 

Time will bring enough of ill. 
Earth is bright with joy and beauty ; 

I intend to have my fill. 
On the broad Atlantic's billows, 

We shall ride in rapture soon ; 
And in England's charming villas, 

We shall spend our honeymoon. 

When our eastern trip is ended, 

We will find an humble home; 
And with souls in union blended, 

We will never wish to roam. 
Then my friends must come to meet me, 

At my rural home, and stay ; 
But hereafter when they greet me, 

They must call me Lela Ray. 



^f? r/^i^ «?^ 



'^"Wt 



THE LEGEND OF TME MOANING 
FALLS, . 



INVOCATION. 



Come, list to a story I've heard from my youth ; — - 
Though woven by fancy, its fabric is truth. 
I call it a legend, but men, that yet live, 
Will vouch for my statements, or credence will give. 
Oh, why have the records of Platte been neglected! 
Or why have its legends been never collected ! 
'Tis better the past be embellished with story, — 
With heroes of love, and of war, with its glory, — 
Than left a dark void, which the fancy will fill, 
With fiends to affright us, and monsters to kill: 
Then list to my legend, with eye and breast laden. 
With tears for the lover, and sighs for the maiden. 

PART I. 

MOANING FALLS, BEFORE THE WHITE MAX CAME. 

Before the whites had known the land, 
Where now these mills and dwellings stand. 
A tribe of Indians claimed the soil. 
And lived by hunting, — not by toil. 



204 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

This lovely stream, where willows bow, 
Was called the Platte, as it is now. 
No white man's foot had ever trod, 
Upon Platte City's virgin sod. 
And where yon ugly dam appears. 
And clanging mills salute our ears, 
Is what the earliest legend calls, 
The Sighing or the Moaning Falls. 
No narrow flume drew off the stream ; 
Nor dam disturbed the water's gleam ; 
The solid rock, from shore to shore. 
Was smooth and level as a floor. 
An equal depth of water spread. 
Across the river' solid bed 
Above the falls, the waters seem, 
A broad and gently flo^ving stream. 
Until they reach the rapid's brink ; 
And then, in line, unruflled, sink, 
And, with a sad and mournful strain, 
Descend the smooth, inclining plain. 
As long as gentle breezes stirred, 
A mournful, dove like, sound was heard ; 
But when the winds became a gale, 
The natives heard a spirit wail. 
Below the falls, the river spread. 
And formed a lake with sandy bed. 
The whippoorwill's sepulchral cry 
Was heard upon the evening sky : 
The paroquets flew o'er the stream, 
And waked its echoes bv their scream: 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 205 

Kingfishers, from their heights, survey, 
And plunge upon their finny prey. 
Upon the bank an Indian stands, 
With steady gaze, and lifted hands ; 
And as ascending fish appear. 
He strikes them with his three-pronged spear. 
Around the lake, on either side, 
The maples lean above the tide, 
And willows, ranged upon the shore, 
With trembling leaves, the waves adore. 
And fish, beneath the lakelet, swim. 
And tiocks of ducks its surface skim. 
Upon the rivers western shore. 

Beneath a wide-spread sycamore, 

A lodge of Indian wigwams stood, \ 

Surrounded by a boundless wood. 

Within the village square, the boys, 

Just now, have stopped their mirth and noise, 

And watch, with keen and restless eyes. 

The honey bees, until they rise, 

And homeward, with their burdens go 

As straight as arrows from a bow ; 

And when they've learned the course they Hew, 

The nimble boys the track pursue, 

And every hollow tree explore. 

Until they find the honeyed store. 

And yonder comes a merry crew, 

Of maidens in their long canoe. 



206 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

Upon the eastern bank they'd found, 
Some sugar trees, that there abound, — 
Had tapped the trees, and blithely bring 
The water home, and sweetly sing : 

SONG OF the maidens. 

Oh who is so free as the Indian maiden. 

Who trusts the Great Spirit, and stoops not to toil. 
She's never with care or anxiety laden, 

But lives on the bounties of water and soil. 
'Tis pleasant to drive the canoe through the waters, 

Or gaily to plunge in the life-giving wave : 
How blest in their freedom, are Indian daughters, 

Who serve not a master, nor toil as the slave. 

The pale-face, repining, goes forth to her duty : 

From morning to sunset she's burdened with care : 
She climbs not the hills when in vestments of beauty, 

But closed in her dwelling, she sighs for pure air. 
While God gives us freedom of prairie and mountain, 

And forests and rivers their bounties supply. 
We'll drink to His name when we bow at the fountain, 

And gratefully thank Him, for rain from the sky. 

Below the falls the maidens land, 
Drag up their boat upon the strand. 
Their buckets to the village bear. 
And leave them in the women's care. 
And then the hearty, joyous boj's. 
The boat, upon their shoulder poise, 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 207 

And place it on the upper tide, 
That all may down the rapids ride. 
The girls come forth to join the throng, 
And add their meed of smiles and song. 

When all were placed, the long canoe, 
Across the waters lightly tiew, 
Until it reached the river's breast, 
Where all their paddles fell to rest. 
The helmsman then, alone, takes charge, 
And deftly guides the floating barge. 
The lovely scene inspires the throng, 
And lifts their souls to holy song: 

SONG OF THE YOUTHS AND MAIDENS. 

The Platte, with its maples and willows, 

Is dear to the Indians' heart : 
'Tis pleasant to ride on its billows. 

And down through its waterfalls dart. 
The moaning we hear from its water, — 

The shrieks that we hear on the gale, — 
Are warnings of ruin and slaughter. 

When white men shall enter this vale. 

Some call it the valley of sorrow. 

When moans from its waters arise : 
But fearless we wait for the morrow. 

And trust to the God of the skies. 
We hope that the white man will never 

Remove us aAvay from this home, — 
We hope by this river, forever. 

Our tribe will continue to roam. 



208 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

The boat the water's brink has found : 
It lifts its prow, and, with a bound. 
Glides swiftly down the limpid plain, 
As arrows fly when elk are slain ; 
And ere the thoughts of fear arise, 
The boat upon the lakelet lies. 
The happy crew, unharmed, rejoice, 
And sing, again, with merry voice : 

SONG OF THE BOYS AND GIRLS. 

Lovely valley, charming waters, — 

Ancient forest, — dancing river! — 
Indian youths, and native daughters. 

Thank the great and bounteous Giver ! 
Flume-like rapids, barge descending, — 

Lake with fish and fowl abounding, — 
Maples bowing, — willows bending. 

Moaning waves forever sounding ! 

Let the valley smile forever. 

Let the waters always glisten ! 
Maidens love the shining river, 

And to moaning waters listen. 
How we love this charming valley, 

With its swift and sighing water! 
Indian youths to arms will rally, 

When the white man comes for slaughter. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

The boys take up the boat again, 

And all, once more, descend the plain. 

Their sport continues till the sun, 

His daily course has nearly run, 

When from the eastern hills there came, 

A horseman loaded down with game. 

It was the father of the twain,— 

Sweet Pora, and the bright Lemain. 

The fording horse went through, with ease ; 

The rapid surf scarce reached his knees. 

The horseman with his heavy load, 

Up to the Indian village rode, 

And, on the ground, disburdened, there, 

A deer, three turkeys, and a bear. 

Lemain and Pora gave their aid, 

And soon a savory feast was laid ; 

And all the lodge,— both chief and brave,— 

Enjoyed the gifts that nature gave. 

And when the day was changed to night, 

A blazing fire sends forth its light ; 

And in its glow the village clan, 

With merry whoop, their sports began. 

The braves their strength and skill to show, 

In mimic war used club and bow. 

Some danced upon the village green ; 

The pipe, but not the bowl, was seen. 

No drunken brawl, nor angry word. 

Upon that festal eve was heard. 

For beer and whisky were unknown, 

Till white men's vices had been sown. 



209 



210 The Le(;end of the INroANiNo Falls. 

The chief, in cheering words and voice, 
Bade all be happy, and rejoice : 
And Pora entertained the throng, 
By singing her prophetic song : 

pora's prophetic song. 

Ye native youths and maidens, say, — 

Is envy in your bosom burning? 
Would you the white man's law obey, 

Or are you for his friendship yearning? 
Then know, that when the Indians yield, 

And trust the cruel white man's candor, 
They are his slaves,— their fates are sealed, 

And they obey a stern commander! 

Methinks, the woodman's axe I hear, 

And see the noble forest falling; 
For when the white man's feet draw near, 

The Indian's fate becomes appalling. 
The day will come, when we must leave 

This sacred stream, and lovely valley ! 
As prophecy, my word receive. 

And for your homes and honor rally. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 211 



PART IF. 

THE WHITES APPEAR. 

Five years have passed, and Pora's strain 

Appeared incredible and vain. . 

The forests, in their glory, stand, 

Uninjured by the woodman's hand. 

Large herds of buffalo appear ; 

The woods are filled with elk and deer ; 

The falls of Platte are moaning still, 

And game is found on every hill. 

Lemain, though in his eighteenth year, 

Has never met a pioneer : 

And lovely Pora, now sixteen, 

A white man's face has never seen. 

But threatening signs, their bosoms, fill. 

With fears of some portending ill. 

The first event that gave alarm. 
And seemed significant of harm 
To Indian happiness, was when 
A steamer filled with fighting men. 
On swift Missouri, stopped to land 
Some workmen and a soldier band, 
Who built a fort of logs and stone. 
In aftertime, as Leavenworth known. 
A wagon road was cut from tlience. 
To reach the nearest settlements. 
At Moaning Falls, the ancient ford, 
Across the riv^er was secured. 



212 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

On Zadoc Martin was bestowed, 
The right to live upon the road. 
His dwelling, built of lindenwood, 
Upon the eastern highland stood. 
His duty was, a boat to keep, 
To cross the stream, when full and deep. 
The soldiers, passing, often found. 
The Falls a pleasant camping ground. 

The Indian girl, in every face. 
Beheld a foeman to her race.. 
And turned a fierce and flashing eye. 
On every white who ventured nigh. 
But Pora's bright and winning face, 
And form of nature's perfect grace. 
Was jusc as winsome when she spurned, 
As when her smiling face was turned ; 
And man delights to win, by art, 
A maiden's firm and steadfast heart. 
As time wore on, her fears gave place, 
To admiration of the race ; 
And Pora, from her heart, believed, 
About the whites, she'd been deceived. 

Ere long, the officers could take, 
A ride, with Pora, on the lake ; 
And with her, in her light canoe, 
They sometimes down the rapids flew ; 
Or talked, while floating in the shade, 
By ancient elms and walnuts made; 



The Legend of the Moaning Fali s. 213 

Or, with their hooks and lines drew out, 
The catfish, buffalo and trout. 
And ere the evening's sport was done, 
Sweet Po^'a's song was thus begun : 

pora's song: — nature's daughters are purest. 

You say that the purest and fairest of daughters, 

Are found in the city, mid luxury's halls! 
As well might you say that the sweetest of waters, 

Burst forth from the gutter that leads from the stalls. 
You find not the clearest and freshest of fountains. 

Where springs are supplied from the graveyard or sewer. 
Those waters are purest that seep from the mountain, 

And woman is purest where waters are pure. 

say not that woman is freshest and sweetest, 

In cities where breezes are stagnant with death. 
You find her in wilds where the winds are the fleetest. 

And breezes are fresh, with a life-giving breath. 
The winds of the prairies are fragrant with flowers, 

Whose essence and odor with health are replete. 
That air is most balmy, that passes through bowers. 

And woman is sweetest where breezes are sweet. 

give me to drink of the life-giving waters, 

That gush from the mountain, and purl from the hills. 

save me from stifling, with luxury's daughters, 
In halls where contagion the atmosphere fills. 



214 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

Let waters that tioAV in the rivers embrace me, — 
Let winds on the pnirie disport with my hair; 

But let not the sloth of the city disgrace me; 

And let me not breathe of its death-ladened air. 

Lemain is also pleased to find, 

The Avhites are noble, true and kind. 

The soldier's life, with burnished arms, 

And showy dress, his fancy charms. 

But when to Martin's house he came, 

A purer passion burst in flame: 

For there he met sweet Josephine, 

^^'hose lovely and angelic mien, 

In sympathy, was often turned, 

On one whose love she would have spurned. 

To Martin's house he often went. 

And hours with Josephine were spent. 

He sometimes rowed her on the lake. 

Would tend her flowers with hoe and rake, 

And run on errands, many a mile, 

To gain her kind, approving smile. 

But one so lovely, true and free, 

As Josephine had grown to be, 

Without her knowledge, had impressed 

Her image on his manly breast. 

He loved her, yet he would not dare. 

To speak of love to one so fair. 

Beside the lake his nights were spent. 

And thus he sang his wild lament : 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

lemain's song .-—unrequited love. 

O Josephine, I still love thee, 
Though thou refuse to smile on me : 
And though thy heart from love is free, 

I'll love forever. 
So let me be thy faithful slave, 
And every toil and danger brave. 
And rather find a lowly grave, 

Than from thee sever. 

But liow can I, of humble birth,— 
An Indian, and a worm of earth. 
Aspire to one of priceless worth. 

And queenly beauty ! 
But till thou turn on me disdain, 
Thy spirit in my heart shall reign. 
And at thy feet I shall remain. 

And serve from duty. 

The sylph-like form of Josephine, 

In after years I've often seen. 

I met her when her heart was free. 

And strove to turn her smile on me. 

I've pressed her hand when none was nigh, 

I've seen my image in her eye ; 

But fate or destiny controlled. 

And never was my passion told. 

I saw her when, in beauty's pride, 

At Hymen's altar, as a bride, 



215 



216 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

She gave to Riley Owen's care, 
That heart so pure, — that hand so fair. 
She loved the Moaning Falls, and clung, 
To scenes she knew and loved, when young. 
And when she died, the water sprite 
Shrieked, dismally, throughout the night. 
'Twas this fair damsel charmed Lemain : 
He loved, but was not loved again. 

Among the men, who sometimes spent, 

A leisure day at Pora's tent, 

Was Robert Moore, — a handsome youth, 

Possessed of chivalry and truth. 

He looked with favor on the girl. 

Whose dark black eye, and teeth of pearl, — 

Whose agile form and raven hair. 

Her character and race declare. 

They gathered fruits from vine and tree, — 

The gifts of nature, rich and free. 

At times the wild romantic pair 

Pursued the deer, the fox or bear. 

Such intimacy always ends. 

In making lovers out of friends ; — 

And both were much surprised to find 

Their hearts, in love were intertwined. 

From year to year, they met each week, 

But seldom dared of love to speak ; 

And Pora sometimes wrung her heart, 

By asking Robert to depart. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 217 

And he, in turn, would softly say, 
"You could not live, with me away ; " 
And then of Pocahontas tell, 
And on her happy marriage dwell. 
And say, '" Her noble blood remains 
In Old Virginia's proudest veins." 
And she would oftentimes inquire, 
About his mother and his sire, 
And ask, if his fair sister's pride, , 
Would brook his lowly Indian bride. 
To this the answer always came, 
That she a nobler blood could claim, 
Than pirates, who her race despoil 
Of freedom and the rights of soil. 

Five years tiew by, on rapid wing. 
And closer still the lovers cling. 
But army rules and Indian fears. 
Prevented marriage all these years. 
But still they hoped the time would be, 
When they, to marry, would be free. 
They met, each week, beside the lake. 
To talk of love and pledges make ; 
And Cupid taught the happy pair, 
In song, their feelings to declare : 

SONG OF PORA AND ROBERT. 

How sweet and alluring is love, 

Where both of the parties are true ! 
'Tis joy neither angel above. 

Nor fairy nor nymph ever knew. 



218 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

The love that is mutual here, 

Shall grow, while eternity rolls ; 

And lovers whose faith is sincere, 

Shall dwell in communion of souls. 

'Tis only in loving we live ; 

Estrangement is death to the heart. 
Our lives 'twould be better to give, 

Than far from each other to part. 
Our souls in one bundle are bound ; 

Beneath the same sod we shall lie ; 
And when the last trumpet shall sound, 

Together we'll mount to the sky. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 219 



PART III. 

THE INDIANS -MUST LEAVE. 

One evening, Avhen the moon was high, 
And shapeless clouds were wafted l)y, 
The lovers found their trysting place, 
With fainting heart and rueful face. 
In sympathy, the gentle breeze 
Moved softly through the ancient trees — 
The Moaning Falls sent up a plaint, 
One scarce could hear, — so low and faint. 
And night was dismal, when the owl 
Or wolf gave vent to screech or howl. 

Young Robert told his woeful tale, 
With voice, at times, a bitter wail : 
"The Indians' lands," he said, " are sold, 
And they must leave,— both young and old. 
The tribe must quit its happy vale. 
And go where grass and water fail. 
And ere ten doleful moons appear. 
They'll part with home, and all that's dear." 

The news has crushed dear Pora's heart ; 
How can she from the valley part! 
It is the spot that gave her birth ; 
The onlv one she loves on earth. 



220 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

But Robert brings more chilling news ; 
For Pora must her lover lose ; 
His regiment will have to go, 
To Florida, to meet the foe 
This second trouble brought despair ; 
'Twas more than Pora's heart could bear. 
She clasped her hands with tearless eyes : 
Her bosom moved with moaning sighs. 
But Robert, in his voiceless grief, 
In soothing tears found some relief. 
At length he drew her to his breast, 
And, in a cooing voice, caressed 
The cold and almost lifeless form, 
The currents of her heart to warm. 
And when she found her voice, her plaint, 
Came forth in numbers sad and faint : 

pora's lament. 
My heart, my heart is broken ; 

All hope and joy have fled. 
The fates my doom have spoken ; 

The grave shall be my bed. 
Behold yon eagle flying, 

It circles round my head ; 
It tells that I am dying, 

Yea, numbered with the dead. 

Though now, our joys are ended: 
The past I don't regret ; 

Our hopes and pleasures, blended, 
Have cheered us since we met. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls 221 

We've drank enough of gladness, 

From love's delicious stream, 
To quench our thirst and sadness, 

Through life's concluding dream. 

In heaven no tribes divide us; 

Alike all races share ; 
Our rights are not denied us; 

And all are equal there. 
Then welcome death, to-morrow, 

That we may meet above ; 
And free from pain and sorrow. 

May dwell in endless love. 

But you, perhaps, would cherisli 

No love for her that's dead, 
But claim, when she shall perish, 

Another in her stead. 
Then find some fair-faced maiden. 

To charm you with her kiss ! 
And may your heart be laden 

With everlasting bliss. 

Her bitter words and labored sighs. 
Bring pain to Robert, and surprise; 
And in a voice, subdued and low. 
Between his sobs, he told his woe : 



222 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

Robert's lament. 

blame me not, my dearest, 

For I am suffering, too ; 
The cloud of wrath thou fearest, 

I dread as much as you. 
You know that I'm enlisted, 

For four years longer, yet ; 
And though I've oft insisted, 

Discharge I cannot get. 

1 would that I could tarry 

With her I love so well! 
I would that we could marry, 

And with your people dwell ! 
We'd make your reservation 

Our final happy home; 
And I would join your nation. 

And never wish to roam. 

Six months have passed, — the news is true ! 
About the Falls there's much ado ! 
The Indians learn with fainting heart, 
That every soul must soon depart, 
To dwell on wild and barren grounds. 
Where neither game nor wood abounds. 
The words and signs of wounded pride 
Are seen and heard on every side. 
They love their fair and blooming vale. 
Where food and water never fail. 



The Le(;en]) of the Moanino Falls. 223 

Within the sound of moaning waves, 
They hoped, at last, to find their graves; - 
They Avished to lay their bones beside 
The noble braves, who here had died. 
From youth they knew the hills and dales, 
The lovely streams and sylvan "trails; — 
Had watched for buffalo and deer, 
In prairies green, and forests sere, — 
Had passed the Falls a thousand times, 
Had listened to its mournful chimes ; 
And now to leave the sacred place, 
And yield it to a hated race, 
Is more than native hearts can bear. 
And drives them almost to despair. 

Misfortunes, as 'tis often found, 
Not singly, but in troops, abound ; 
And now the whites, the forest fill, 
And build a house on every hill, — 
Destroy the timber, kill the game. 
And even to the Falls lay claim. 
They built a dam and flouring mill, 
And made a town upon the hill. 
The moaning Falls no more are heard, 
But on the bank, the mill-stones whirred. 
The fish can pass the falls no more. 
And cease to come as heretofore. 
The woods, the Indians loved so well, 
Before the woodmen's axes fell, 



224 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

And all that's lovely in the vale, 
The white man's vandal hands assail, 
Till all the things that red men prize, 
Are sacrificed before their eyes. 
The natives looked, with sullen face. 
Upon their ruin and disgrace ; ' 
And Pora and Lemain were loth, 
To leave the land endeared to both, 
By bonds of love and ties of birth, 
That linked them to this spot of earth. 
They met one evening, to bewail 
The ruin of their lovely vale. 
And tell of changing hopes and fears, 
Of faithful love, and bitter tears. 
"My love," Lemain declared, " for Josephine, 

Is such that separation cannot wean. 

I'll love her though she never smiles on me ; 

I'd always serve, and never would be free. 
• My heart is warmed by love's ecstatic thrill. 

Yet disappointment never brings its chill. 

I want to see her face, and hear her voice, 

Though hope can never make my soul rejoice. 

Mine is the service men to God impart ; 

I worship and adore her in my heart. 

And though she shall be married soon, I hear, 

I feel no jealous pang, — I shed no tear ; 

I want to live in this elysian bliss, 

And never ask her hand, or gain her kiss. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 225 

While near, I will her every word obey, 
And when we part, for her I'll always pray. 
I hope that in her husband she'll be blest. 
And, in his love, will find enduring rest." 

Thus spoke the noble souled Lemain, 
And Pora's voice pursued the strain : 

" My heart is broken, and I slowly die ! 
Behold my hectic flush of cheek and eye ! 
A fortnight hence, and you will leave this place. 
But I'll be buried with my native race. 
Beneath the oak that shades the tribal graves, — 
Beneath the sod where lie the martyred braves, — 
I'll rest in peace until the white man's hand. 
Has felled the sacred tree, and plowed the land ; 
And sweeter rest I'll find with God than this. 
And with my Robert, dwell in endless bliss. 
We'll find that union which the earth denies, 
For all have equal honor in the skies. 

Upon an isthmus, 'twixt two worlds I stand ; 
Around my feet are only rocks and sand ; 
Behind, are lovely scenes of happy youth ; 
Before me loom the isles of love and truth ; 
The stream of death, on this side, opens wide ; 
But God has sent an angel for my guide ; 
And in my light canoe we'll reach the isles. 
Where God upon the meek forever smiles. 
The world I've passed, had beauty, hope and joy ; 
The world to come, has bliss without alloy. 



22(> The Leoend of the Moanixc; Falls. 

My earthly pathway had been strewn with tiowers; 
I basked in sunshine, through the rosy hours ; 
But when my Robert stood before my eyes, 
I felt new vigor in my soul arise. 
T hoped to join him in this world below, — 
In shade and sunshine, changeless love bestow. 
His daily cares with mirth and-song "beguile, 
And find my pleasure in his radiant smile. 
My love was deep and changeless as the sea; 
And his devotion was as true to me. 
But hindrances on every side, appeared ; 
And some imprudent persons interfered. 
Each week, as moons and seasons Hew, 
We met, our loving pledges to renew ; 
But when my bliss was fullest, I was told, 
My tribe this sweet and blooming vale had sold, — 
That we must leave our childhood's happy home. 
And on the western wilds and deserts roam : 
My eyes grew dim, — my burdened heart grew faint 
I deeply sighed, but uttered no complaint : 
But when my Robert told me we must part, — 
That soon his noble regiment must start ; — 
That he had now been ordered far away, 
So we could meet, no more, in life's short day. 
My soul was wrecked, and with a wailing cry, 
I fell upon my knees and asked to die. 
And then I heard a sweet and loving voice. 
That bade me rise, and evermore rejoice ; 
' For soon,' it said, 'you'll cross the stream and rise, 
To meet your happy lover in the skies ; 



The Le<;end of the Moamnc; Falls. 'I'll 

And there, where race and color are unknown, 
Your Robert shall, forever, be your own.' 
By these sw^eet words, my sinking soul was stayed. 
And now, of death, I'm not at all afraid. 

But failing strength and fevered brow suggest 
A drink of water and a moment's rest " 

Lemain dipped water from the lake, 
His sister's parching thirst to slake ; 
And W'hile she lay with half closed eyes, 
In bitter tone the brother cries : 

"Behold the Indian's primitive domain! 
Where ruin stalks and desolations reign ! 
What right have baleful white men to our lands ? 
Must we, as slaves, obey their harsh commands? 
For ages, red men, in this lovely vale. 
Have heard the Moaning Falls send up its wail. 
Have watched the fish ascend the watery tiume, 
Have crossed these prairies in their vernal l)loom, — 
Have gathered nature's bounties, day by day. 
And deemed the deer their undisputed prey. 
For centuries, until the w^hite man came. 
We owned the land, and none denied our claim. 
But see, how fast the native forest falls ! 
Behold the white man's fields and stately halls I 
He claims the stream, appropriates the ground. 
And drives away the game, till none is found. 
His hurtful dams across the streams extend. 
And fish, at spawning time, cannot ascend. 



228 The Legend of the Moaninc; Falls. 

They therefore fail, and earth no more will give 
The fruit and game on which the Indians live. 
The spirit of the Falls, for ages past, 
A doleful look upon 1 his vale has cast, — 
Has mourned the ruin that it knew must come. 
And now has left this region, — or is dumb. 
No more the waters wail — for now, alas ! 
The doom we feared so long, has come to pass, 
A few days more, and I shall leave this vale. 
But every season, I'll return to wail." 

We smile when lovers disagree, 

Before the bridal day ; 
We sigh if cruel death's decree. 

Shall snatch a bride away ; 
But weep when lovers, good and true. 

Are forced to live apart. 
While canker-worms the soul undo. 

And feed upon the heart. 
And yet more sorely we must mourn. 

When hearts, as one allied, 
Are ruthlessly asunder torn, 

From prejudice or pride. 
Then let the Indian girl receive, 

From every youth a tear, 
And all the maidens garlands weave. 

To deck the soldier's bier. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 229 

When Robert next to Pora sped, 
He found her on her lowly bed. 
Her face was placid, pale and meek ; 
A livid spot was on her cheek ; 
She seemed absorbed in pleasant thought ; 
Her eyes some far off region sought, — • 
Some bright, etherial, blissful zone, 
Where sin and parting are unknown ; 
And, now and then, a smile would grace, 
And animate, her lovely face. 
Beside her bed her lover stands. 
And gently takes her languid hands. 
She opens wide her wondering eyes, 
And with ecstatic rapture cries : 
" You've come, again, a light to shed, 
Upon an Indian's dying bed ! 
I often meet you in my dreams, 
By flowery meads, and sylvan streams. 
And fancy's wand, of magic power, 
Has brought me many a happy hour. 
We've chased the stag, through all the day, 
Till, desperate, he turned at bay ; 
We've trailed the catamount and bear. 
And bearded bruin in his lair ; 
And when the day in sport was spent, 
We've passed the eve at father's tent, 
And told the story, ever new. 
Of love ecstatic, pure and true. 

— 14 — 



230 The Lec4End of the Moaning Falls. 

If thus my dreams bring joy and peace, 
I wish my dreams would never cease ! 
For none can realize my pain, 
When consciousness returns again. 
My tribe must leave these grounds, but I, 
Before the parting day, will die. 
But that which gives most pain to me, 
Is parting, evermore, with thee. 
'Tis sweet to live, when every day, 
The one you love selects your Avay ; 
But, forced by fate to live apart. 
True lovers die of broken heart." 

She ceased to speak, and closed her eyes. 
That dreams might come and visions rise : 
And as in ecstacy she lay, 
The' smiles across her features play; 
And now and then, in blissful dreams, 
Her face with joy and rapture beams. 
But now ! behold, a change takes place, 
And horror masks her lovely face : 
And see, she springs with piercing scream, 
And wakens from her frightful dream : 
And while the teardrops course her cheeks. 
The panting Indian maiden speaks: 
" My vision, Robert, was of you : 
How glad I am, it was not true ! 
Methought, a regiment of Avhites 
Came here to rob us of our rights ; 
Our men were in a deep ravine, 
And soldiers, in the front, were seen. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 231 

They stood prepared, but ere the word, 
To charge upon the foe, was heard. 
You stepped before the lines, and said : 
* To do this wrong, I'll not be led ; 
The Indians own this lovely land. 
And I shall never lift my hand, " 
The owners of this soil to slay. 
Or take their precious rights away. 
In vain the Indian lifts his prayer ; 
There's nothing left him but despair. 
The maiden chosen for my bride, 
With broken health and heart, has died : 
And I'm resolved this day to die. 
That in one grave we both may lie.' 

^' 'Twas thus you spoke, and, with a bound, 
You hurled your carbine to the ground ; 
And, in despair, you sped away. 
To where the lurking Indians lay. 
But ere you reached the deep ravine, 
A hundred flashing guns were seen. 
And you, a torn and mangled mass, 
Fell, lifeless, on the blood-stained grass. 
The horrid, ghastly, sickening sight. 
So whelmed my fainting soul with fright, 
That with a shudder and a scream, 
I waked to find it all a dream. 
Upon m}^ slumbering spirit fell 
A frightful nightmare's hideous spell, 



232 The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

And fancy, such a scene, portrayed, 

As never from my sight can fade. 

So plainly did the scene arise, 

That now I scarcely trust my eyes ; 

And though I see you by my bed, 

It still seems true, that you are dead." 

Again she closed her eyes, and slept. 

While Robert, kneeling, watched and wept. 

PART IV. 

THE INDIANS DEPART. 

When all were ready to depart. 
But ere the Indians made the start, 
Young Robert came, at eve, to tell. 
His dear betrothed, a last farewell. 
Her feeble pulse, and pallid cheek. 
The near approach of death, bespeak ; 
And as she lay upon her bed. 
He took her languid hand and said: 

" I come, to-night, to bid ni}' love farewell ; 
And where we'll meet again, no tongue can tell. 
To everglades of Florida I go, 
And I shall die when first I meet a foe. 
I wish to join you in the world above, 
And spend eternity with her I love." 

She spoke in low and feeble tone ; 
Yet joy in every feature shone : 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 233 

" I've had a dream that left my soul at peace ; 
And gladly now, I ask for death's release. 
It seemed that in the Christian's heaven I strayed, 
With golden crown and spotless robe arrayed ; 
Your Savior placed me in a radiant l)and, 
Of youths and maidens, saved from every land. 
I found among them lovely Indian girls. 
With shining raiment decked with priceless pearls. 
Their blonde complexion and Caucasian face. 
Showed God made no distinction as to race. 
But while the others had companions there, 
I had no mate, my yearning heart to share. 

One day, the couples of the happy band. 
Had formed a fairy circle, hand in hand. 
And I, in gloomy silence, stood alone. 
With none to love and claim me as his own. 
I heard a herald, from the gate, proclaim, 
That he had brought a youth, and spoke your name, 
And when my eyes beheld your happy face, 
I wept with joy, and flew to your embrace ; 
And as we stood, the band around us met' 
And sang a hymn I never can forget : " 

the angels' song. 

Dear Robert, we welcome thee gladly. 

We claim thee as one of this band ; 
For Pora has watched for thee sadly, 

But now is possessed of thy hand. 



234 ' The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 

Henceforward, together, you'll wander. 
Through fields of ecstatic delight. 

And when the Lord's dealings 3^ou ponder, 
You'll learn they were gracious and right. 

We bask in the sunshine of pleasure, 

In air — on the land, or the tide ; 
We ask not for food or for treasure. 

For all that we need is supplied. 
Come join us on mountain and river, 

And roam over city and lea. 
And thank the Great Spirit and Giver, 

For happiness, boundless and free. 

Here Pora's failing voice was hushed ; 
With trembling hand, her eyes she brushed : 
" I can not see," she said, '* 'tis night ! 
But no ! I see a heavenly light. 
The angels, on the other side. 
Are calling me to cross the tide. 
I go ; but Robert, stay not long, 
But join us in that glorious throng. 
And now farewell, — we'll meet above, 
To dAvell in realms of endless love ! " 

On Robert's breast she leaned her head. 

Until her spirit sweetly fled. 

And when Fort Leavenworth's morning gun, 

Announced the rising of the sun. 

They placed her body 'neath the sod, 

And left her ?pirit with her God. 



The Legend of the Moaning Falls. 235 

My story's done; but let me tell, 

That Robert soon in battle fell. 

He sought the front, where dangers lie, 

And ended life as heroes die. 

His failing voice made one request : 

That he in Pora's grave might rest. 

And ere two moons their rounds had run, 

The lovers' sylvan graves were one. 

Lemain yet lives, and every year. 

When blossoms on the trees appear, 

Comes back to view his childhood's home, 

And o'er its hills and valleys roam, 

I've seen him kneel, where Pora lies, 

With rueful face and downcast eyes ; 

And at the grave of Josephine, 

His prostrate form I've sometimes seen. 

The story I have told to you. 

He'll tell you, word for word, is true. 

And now I ask, that if you meet 
The good Lemain, you'll kindly greet. 
The heir and owner of the land. 
On which your dwelling houses stand ; 
And he will tell you what he calls, 
The story of the Moaning Falls. 



THE MOTHER. 



SER JOY— HER SORROW— HER gONgOLATION. 



HER JOY. 

And now that the infant is dressed, 

Come nestle it close by my side ; 
And there on my bosom caressed, 

The darling shall always abide. 
How sweet and bewitching it seems. 

Decked out in the garments I made ; 
'Tis just the fair child of my dreams, — 

For which I so ferventl}' prayed. 

O look on those wondering eyes, 

That gaze so intently on. me! 
How deep and surprisingl}'- wise, 

This angel from heaven must be ! 
It knows me already, I'm sure ! 

Intelligence beams in its face ! 
Its eyes are as blue and as pure 

As heaven's ethereal space. 

Come hither, my husband, and see 

This spark of divinity glow ; 
'Twas given to you and to me. 

To light up our pathway below. 



The Mother. 237 

Twil] prove a bright lamp to our feet, 
And teach us this lesson of life : — 

That only a child can make sweet, 

The home of a husband and wife. 

And now a new life is begun, — 

New prospects and hopes will arise ; 
This child will unite us as one, 

And strengthen the marital ties. 
This darling, its parents will woo, 

And cause us to work and agree; 
One hand it will place upon you, 

The other 'twill lay upon me. 

Delighted, I gratefully rest, 

Since God has regarded my voice ; 
To-day, as a mother, I'm blessed. 

And you, as a father rejoice. 
What pleasure and pride we shall meet. 

In making it lovely and true, — 
In training its infantile feet. 

The path of the just to pursue. 

"'Tis innocent, spotless and fresh, 

And given to me, as my own : 
I'll love it, as flesh of my flesh, 

And guard it, as bone of my bone : 
The sweet little creature I'll bear. 

In tenderness, close to my heart : 
I'll make it the subject of prayer. 

And teach it from sin to depart. 



238 The Mother. 

See, my dear, the babe is sleeping. 

In her pure, seraphic grace ! 
Ah I behold the smile that's creeping^ 

On her sweet and lovely face ! 
Angel whispers she is hearing ; — 

Kind and loving voices speak ; 
Cherubs, in her dreams, appearing, 

Kiss the darling's velvet cheek. 

See the smile that lights her features ! 

She is back in heaven again ! 
Angels are her cheery teachers, 

And they would the child detain. 
Heaven has not a cherub sweeter. 

Than my sleeping infant seems ; 
And no wonder angels meet her. 

To caress her in her dreams. 

Watch her lips, she's sweetly talking 

To admiring angel throngs ! 
As through heavenly gardens walking, 

Seraphs hail her with their songs. 
Listen to her rippling laughter ! 

In her dreams she calls '' Mamma 1 " 
We must teach the child, hereafter, 

How to say, " My dear papa." 

Now she wakes, — throws back her tresses. 
And salutes me with a kiss. 

In her soft and sweet caresses, 

I have found unbounded bliss. 



The Mother. 239 

Jesus saved his choicest blessing 

For the infant children's heads ; 
And in terms, his love expressing, 

Told us angels guard their beds. 

0, my husband, you are dearer. 

Since you love both child and me; 
And the child to us is nearer. 

Since in loving we agree. 
Husband, father, wife and mother. 

Can't be jealous of their child ; 
Loving it, they love each other, 

With affection pure and mild. 
****** 
Come, sweet Mamie, here's your rattle : 

Play upon the carpet there. 
I will listen to your prattle. 

And will watch my child with care. 
Take the doll, and nurse it sweetly ; 

Do not let it fret nor weep ; — 
Lay it in the cradle neatly ; 

Let the darling go to sleep. 

Innocence and truth are beaming 

In my lovely baby's face ; 
Sunshine in her eye is gleaming, 

And her step is full of grace ; 
All her talk and laughter thrill me, 

Like rich music in the night ; 
And her charming fancies fill me. 

With a mother's pure delight. 



240 The Mother. 

Every feature beams with beauty; 

Music dwells upon her voice ; 
Therefore 'tis a higher duty, 

That she make the Lord her choice. 
Thus my prayer shall be rewarded, 

By the faith of her I love; 
And her name shall be recorded, 

In the book of life above. 

Dainty fingers, finely molded, 

Pat me softly on the cheek : 
Round my neck her arms are folded, 

All her faith and love to speak. 
I am charmed by her caresses ; 

Her delight brings joy to me ; 
And when pain my child distresses, 

I am worried more than she. 

Every night my infant treasure, 

I commit to God in prayer : 
Every morn I wake with pleasure, — 

Thanking God for all His care. 
All the day my heart is leaping. 

With sweet hope and fond delight ; 
And my child, when I am sleeping, 

Charms me, still, in dreams of night. 

Every day she grows in beauty ! 

0, how In'ight and fair she'll be ! 
I must point the path of duty. 

And from peril set her free. 



The Mother. 241 

If temptation shall assail her, — 

Purity shall be her shield ; 
And if friends and credit fail her, — 

Truth and virtue will not yield. 

Even now, my infant daughter 

Reigns in half my heart and soul ; 
And when I have reared and taught her, 

She, I fear, will claim the whole. 
As an idol I adore her; 

As a lover I am true ; 
As a slave I stand before her, — 

Ready all her will to do. 

When she's grown, she'll be my glory, — 

Brilliant, beautiful and gay ! 
When by age my head is hoary, 

Then my steps she'll guide and stay 
0, how blest to be a mother. 

With a child so fair and bright ! 
Through our lives we'll help each other. 

And by love make burdens light. 

HER SORROW. 
My child, I'd freely bear, for thee, 

The anguish you endure. 
If pain and sickness borne by me. 

Your malady would cure. 
But I can only pray to God, 

To bring to you relief; 
While on my heart the ruthless rod. 

Descends with vengeful grief. 



242 The Mother. 

The darling sufferer pants and groans, 

As on her couch she lies. 
How piteously she pines and moans, 

And turns to me her eyes ! 
Father, soothe my darling's pain, 

And save her, I implore : 
All human efforts are in vain ; — 

Thou, only canst restore. 

i*: * * * * * 

Physicians tell me she must die ! 
'Twill surely drive me wild ! 
And why, my Father, tell me why, 

Must Thou remove my child ? 
But if the Lord I've loved so well. 

In vengeance fall on me. 
Let not this bleeding heart rebel. 

And turn, Lord, from Thee. 

My child and I, in soul and heart. 
Are closely knit as one : 

And I can't say, if we must part, 
" Lord, Thy will be done ! " 

But if we both should die, to-day, 
No heartstrings would be torn ; 

For if my child is dragged away, 
I'd not be left to mourn. 

How can I live without my child ! 

So winning, pure and dear; 
She calls me now, in accents wild. 

Though I am ever near. 



The Mother. 243 

She tells me loving angels stand, 

And call her to the skies ; 
And cherubs, circling, hand in hand, 

Disport before her eyes. 

Her sight is not to earth confined : — 

She looks on empty space : 
And oh, my darling one is blind, 

And cannot see my face ! 
She does not hear a word I say : 

She stares with eager eyes : 
She sees and hears what's far away. 

Beyond the starry skies. 

My child is dead, and I'm in gloom! 

For me there's nothing left ! 
And when they lay her in the tomb, 

I'll be indeed bereft ! 
Where can I hide from mortal eyes. 

And wait for death's release ? 
. All wealth and honor I despise, 

And only ask for peace. 

No lamb now nestles in the fold, — 

The home to me so dear ! 
The door is closed, — the hearth is cold. 

And all is dark and drear. 
If lambs were found on hill and plain. 

And only one was mine ; 
And that, alone, of all, was slain. 

Can God be called benign? 

r^ 5fC ^C ^ ^ ^ 5fC 5jC 



244 The Mother. 

The pageantry of death is past. 

And Mamie's lost to sight. 
A shadow on my soui is cast, 

And earth is palled in night. 
I'm chastened, bnt can never say, 

Like Job, when sorrows came; — 
" The Lord that gave, — He takes away 

And blessed be His name." 

HER CONSOLATION. 

Her life was but a summer day. 

With pleasures ever new, — 
A dream of angels, fair and gay, — 

A bright, dissolving view. 
Though sin had not her heart defiled, 

Nor fears disturl)ed her bliss. 
Yet death bestowed upon my child 

A brighter world than this. 

There with a bright enraptured throng^ 
She's near the Savior's throne, 

And Avith the voice of harp and song, 
Her happiness is shown. 

And then I'll meet her, pure and young,, 
'Mid sweet celestial bowers; 

And joy untold by human tongue, 
Shall be forever ours. 

She dwells Avhere tears and sorrows cease^ 
And finds eternal rest : 



The Mother. 245 

So let my grief give way to peace, 

Since now my child is blest. 
She'll nevermore be sad or wild; 

From care and sin she's free : 
In heaven she'll always be a child, 

And wait and watch for me. 

The children round the Savior play, — 

And Mamie's on His knee! 
And now to Him I daily pray. 

To bless the child and me. 
And when to her I turn my eyes, 

1 see the Savior too, 
Who to my words of joy replies : 

" ril keep the child for you."' 

;!< * ;1: ;!; * ^ :|c 

Two years have passed since Mamie died ; 

And what a change in me ! 
I've lost my selfishness and pride, 

And trust, Lord, in Thee. 
And now another child is sent, — 

A lovel}^ son is given, — 
Whom God, I've learned, has only lent. 

For me to train for heaven. 

One faultless gem of priceless worth 

Is safe beyond the skies ; 
And now my thoughts are turned from eartli, 

To where my treasure lies. 
I'll teach my boy that heaven is fair. 

And worth all worlds combined : — 

— 10 — 



246 The Mother. 

I'll teach him that his sister's there, 
In purity enshrined. 

Before my lovely daughter died, 

The world above seemed cold, — 
Although I read its gates were wide, 

And streets were paved with gold. 
But when the daughter entered there. 

And found the Father's arms, 
That world became supremely fair, 

And clothed in wondrous charms. 

I live in hope of that bright day. 

When Mamie I shall meet; — 
When through elysian fields we'll stray. 

Or walk the golden street. 
And little Willie, in his drean.s, 

Now calls for sister, dear. 
And even when awake, he seems 

To think that she is near. 

He asks me, oftentimes, to tell 

About his sister, May, 
And says he loves her — Oh, so well I — 

He'll go with her to stay. 
In all his little plans and plays 

His sister has a part ; 
He shows me in a hundred waA's, 

He loves her from his heart. 

Oh, childhood, thou art ever blest, 
And ever good and pun! 



The Mother. 247 

And we should be of bliss possessed, 

If childhood would endure. 
How happy he that dies in youth,— 

Before by sin defiled ; — 
Since he who never fell from truth, 

Will always be a child. 

My Mamie and her heavenly joy. 

Is now a charming theme; 
My lovely girl and noble boy 

Make sweet my nightly dream. 
The one is in my Savior's care, 

The other here with me : 
The daughter is the Father's heir; 

The son I hope will be. 

There's not a happier woman, now, 

Than Willie's mother is ; 
For she has made to God the vow 

That Willie shall be His. 
One child was claimed and saved by God, 

And I in with grief was wild : 
But now I bless and kiss the rod, 

And give the Lord my child. 



temper;ince. 



WHO IS TO BLAME FOR THE DRAM-SHOP NUiSANSE? 



SALOON KEEPER. 



Your Honor, I have come, once more, 

My dram-shop license to rencAV ; 
I've done superbly, heretofore, 

But better, still, I hope to do. 
You've put the license up, I hear ; 

Five hundred dollars, now, you charge : 
And here's your money, — 'tis not dear; — 

I wish the sum were twice as large. 

JUDGE. 

You joke! I had this thing to do ! 

The temijerance gang came down so strong, 
I could not get your license through, 

And let you have it for a song ;* 
And so, I gave the dogs a sop. 

By charging you a little more. 
But that does not their murmurs stop. 

For now, their heads are awful sore. 

SALOON KEEPER. 

Tlie license can't be fixed too large ; 

The toper's doomed, and in our thrall ; 
The more we pay, — the more we charge. 

And sooner get the drunkard's all. 



Temperance. 249 

When l)roke, he'll work, awhile, and rise, 
Then drink until he's broke, again : , 

The rich man revels till he dies, — 

The poor, good customers remain. 

JUDGE. 

You think the more for license paid, 

The greater is the gain insured, — 
The better will become your trade. 

And larger gains will be secured ! 
But how can 3'ou your conscience still, 

While leading men to death or crime? 
How can you dare your pockets fill, 

With money stained with blood and slime 

SALOON KEEPER. 

How canst thou charge thy sin to me ! 

Thy license gives me right to sell ! 
The blame attaches all to thee ! 

My easy conscience don't rebel ! 
I'd never sell a glass of rum, 

Except on license, issued here : 
I'd buy this right, at any sum, 

To keep my tender conscience clear. 

JUDGE. 

This court, I hold, is not to blame. 

For all the ruin of your trade : 
I do the people's will, I claim. 

And they, you know, must be obeyed. 



250 Temperance. 

They come with long petitions, signed 
With names of voters by the score ; 

And I can't act as I'm inclined, 

But do, from fear, what I deplore. 

SALOON KEEPER. 

But' quite as many voters pray, 

That you will no saloon permit; 
If you the people must obey. 

Then do as you're inclined, and ({uit. 
I i)romise you, I'll cease to sell, 

When you, all licenses, withhold. 
For there's a death, I know full well, 

In every cask of liquor sold. 

JUDGE. 

Your drift, or meaning, I can't tell ; 

The price of license you would raise, 
And yet, without one, you won't sell ; 

The more it costs — the more it pays : 
The traffic, you admit, is wrong. 

And yet you say, you're not to blame; 
And that the gains to you belong, 

But that, to me, inures the shame. 

SALOON KEEPER. 

Your statement is concise and true ! 

Your license gives me right to sell : 
I'm not to blame for what I do, 

Because the law approves it well. 



Temperance, 251 

But you give license — take the pay, 

And all its sin and shame assume : 
My conscience is as clear as day ; 

"Tis 3'ou, send drunkards to the tomb. 

JUDGE. 

If I believed the blame was mine, 

The public voice, I would not heed; 
Or else, I would, at once, resign, 

And let another do the deed. 
The people who petition me, 

Demand, and force, me to these wrongs : 
And they who ask saloons, must be, 

The ones to whom the blame belongs ! 

MORAL. 

The sin is yours, unless you work, 

And boldly vote for prohibition ; 
Distiller, vender, court and clerk, 

Do all these wrongs, by your permission : 
Then raise your voices, one and all. 

For temperance and reformation ; 
And then your conscience will not fiill. 

Beneath a crushing condemnation. 



252 ' Temperance. 

EXULTATION Of THE ANgEL OF TEMPERAN&E,0¥ER 
PROHIBITION. 



The outlook is cheering — the prospect is bright, — 
The landscape is lovely, — the skies are alight! 
One truth is apparent, and perfectly clear; — 
That men must prohibit the vices they fear. 
For drunkards will always their cravings obe}^ 
While urgent temptations are placed in their way. 

Why drive, from your hall, the decanter and glass, — 
Yet place a saloon where the drunkard must pass ? 
'Tis just as unwise, as if men should permit, 
The sexton to dig, 'neath the sidewalk, a pit. 
That he, and the good undertaker, might share. 
The fees for interring those killed in the snare. 

But AlcohoFs scepter is soon to be broken ; 

The word " Prohibition," by millions is spoken ! 

I see, in the distance, a tempest is brewing ; 

It grows to a gale, opposition subduing ; 

Above and before it, an eagle is soaring ; 

He floats, while the tempest, beyond him, is roaring: 

I see, from his talons, a pennant is streaming, 

And on it, a legend, of silver, is gleaming : 

I read the device, — 'tis the word " Prohibition " : 

That term be my watchword, — that cause be my mission. 



Temperance. 253- 

THE FIEND OF THE STILL (rising). 

Now, can it be, that you are thinking. 
That prohibition will stop drinking? 
Such fools deserve a rope and gibbet ; 
For, prohibition don't prohibit ! 
The law, — and this is undisputed, 
Has never, yet, been executed : 
For whisky -men and topers say. 
They'll have their liquor, every day. 
Prohibitory laws, we think. 
Will make us more inclined to drink : 
And we can find the means, because, 
'Tis easy to evade the laws. 
A noble freeman won't give up. 
His right to sip the flowing cup ; 
But, from his last foul ditch, will cry, 
" How sweet, for Liberty, to die ! " 
The Bible, too, when understood, 
Proves wine is wholesome, pure and good. 
So Jesus manufactured wine — 

THE ANGEL OF TEMPERANCE (interrupting). 

Go, fiend of perdition, to realms that are thine! 
When devils quote scriptures let Christians beware ; 
'Tis always perverted, and used to ensnare. 
By precept on precept, and line upon line, 
The bible its curses denounces on wine. 
Distilling, to prophets, was wholly unknown ; 
And therefore, no curse on the still, can be shown. 



254 Temperance. 

But who could the rage of the prophets have stilled, 
If whisky its thousands, in Judah, had killed ? 
Suppose ye, that stern Nehemiah, of old. 
Would ever have sufifered the bane to be sold ? 
Or think you he'd harshly the wine cup restrain, 
And suffer his people by rum to be slain ? 

Wherever prohibitive laws have prevailed, 

The tide of prosperity never has failed. 

Sobriety reigns, — education advances, 

And property everywhere, briskly advances. 

The liquors now used, where the law has been tried, 

Are only a tenth of what once was supplied ; 

And millions, to day, are enjoying the boon, 

Of comfort, remote from the fetid saloon. 

The outlaws, corruption and foil}' exhibit. 

And help us to make prohibition prohibit. 

By telling, in triumph, the cunning employed, 

To violate law, and, detection avoid : 

They brag of their shrewdness, — their secrets betray, 

And tell of their crimes, as of innocent play. 

We need no detectives, — the outlaw^s will tell. 

The crimes they commit, and their numbers will swell. 

The brewer will swear, prohibition will cause, 

The ruin of trade, and contempt of the laws ; 

And yet, the next moment, that brewer will charge, 

Prohibitive laws will his profits enlarge; 

And even will perjure himself, to display, 

Contempt for a law he dislikes to obey. 



Temperance. 255 

This motto, from Temperance banners, should stream : 

Majorities rule, and their voice is supreme." 

All questions of state, at the polls, are decided : 

All men, by the will of the voters, are guided : 

The voice of the people, who favor our cause. 

Will not only make, but will execute laws. 

We fear not the low and contemptible knave. 

Who hides him a keg in a cellar or cave. 

And sells it to wretches, as base as himself, 

And gloats on his sharpness, and ill gotten pelf. 

Such men are all liars, an*d forward our cause. 

By showing the scoundrels that break through the laws. 

No gentleman stoops, with such vermin to deal, — 

For hiding the goods is as bad as to steal. 

The virtuous youth will be early persuaded. 

That honor is lost, if the law is evaded. 

The laws of all countries prohibit man's vices, 
And treat, as a nuisance, what lures and entices. 
Whatever is hurtful, by law is forbidden ; — 
Including all vices — both open and hidden. 
If gambling does harm, then we promptly forbid it ; 
If stealing is done, we confine him who did it: 
Then why not prohibit the greatest of scourges, — 
While charity begs, and humanity urges ? 
Why is it, we cherish the dram-shop, so kindly : 
Or why do we license the poison, so blindly ? 
This precept is true, that whatever is vicious, 
To promptly forbid, is both kind and judicious. « 



256 Temperance. 

How silly the slave to the wine cup appears, 
Who sheds over "liberty," crocodile tears! 
The maniac weeps over " liberty," too, 
Because he's imprisoned, and harm cannot do. 
The infant, the madman and drunkard, will find, 
The laws, to restrain them, are wholesome and kind. 
Good men don't complain of the laws against stealing ;. 
It's only the thieves, that think juries unfeeling ; 
The sober don't grumble, at laws against drinking; 
And drunkards are blessed, by such laws, I am thinking. 
I therefore conclude, prohibition's a blessing. 
Not hurting the sober, nor drunkards oppressing. 

But hark ! the proud eagle of Temperance is screanjing; 
And lo, from his beak, a new pennon is streaming! 
These words it displays, and let no one neglect them : 
" That woman has rights, and the world must respect 1 hem ! '" 
The eagle is clapping his wings with delight ; — 
Behold, there's an army of females in sight ! 
With music and banners, the host is advancing ; 
The plumes, in their hats, are exultingly dancing; 
The men, on each side, bow their heads in submission^ 
And worship the banner inscribed, "Prohibition." 

Ye friends of reform, be ye faithful and daring ; 
Give ear to no scoffer, nor heed the despairing ; 
For foes will be wrecked, as at Waterloo's fray ; 
And Avoman's the Blucher, to give us the day. 
Whenever the ballot, to females, is given, — 
I'arewell to the still, for from earth 'twill be driven I 



Temperance. 257 



.^fiOMEMYED.Q^ 



AN OPERETTA. 



Scene; — A Saloon. 

Characters. — The Saloon Keeper, behind his counter. Walter, lying 

as drunk. Walter's jNIother, Wife, Sister and Daughters. ' 



THE mother's PLEA. 
Tune : "Jesus, I my Cross have Taken," '' Greenville," or " Hastings. 

Give me back the son I cherish ! 

Hear a mother's wailing prayer ! 
Strike me down and let me perish, 

But my darling Walter spare ! 
He was pure as dew of morning, — 

Lovely as the opening flower, — 
Ever}'^ path he trod adorning,— 

Till he fell beneath your power. 

You destro3'ed my noble Walter ! 

You brought on him this disgrace ! 
He, from duty, did not falter, 

Till you brought him to this place. 
Here we've come to find and save him, 

And secure him hope and joy, — 
Break your chains that now enslave him, — 

And restore my erring boy ! 



258 Temperance. 



SALOON KEEPER. 



Take your son, ]>ut let me tell you, 

I've a mortgage on his land : 
When it's due, I shall expel you : 

This, I hope, you understand I 

THE WIFE. 
Tune : " Home, Sweet Home." 
0, give me my husband — so loving and true : 
His fall and disgrace were accomplished by you. 
He once had a home that was cheery and bright; 
His wife and his children were, then, his delight. 
That home, so enchanting, is mortgaged to you. 
And we must depart, when the note becomes due. 
O, give me my Walter — no more let him roam. 
And gladly I'll give you my Eden-like home. 

Your drinking and gambling enticed him away, 

From home that was blissful, and hearts that were gay 

No wife was more happy — no children so blest ; 

And home was an haven of beauty and rest. 

But 3'ou, as the serpent, my husband decoyed ; 

His name you've disgraced, and his home you've destroyed. 

My husband, my husband, come back to your home! 

We'll make you so blest, that no more you will roam. 

SALOON KEEPER. 

You have but one week in your homestead to stay ; 
And then I'll expel you, unless you shall pay. 
Your husband will die; I will drive you from home; 
And you and your children, as beggars, shall roam. 



Temperance. 259 

the sister. 
Tune: " He has Gone to the Grave." 
My brother ! My brother ! 0, save my dear brother ! 
So handsome, so noble, so true to his word ! 
You heed not the prayers of his wife and his mother ; 

And yet may a sister presume to be heard ! 
The love of a parent, afflictions may sever : 

The love of a wife, may be changed into hate ; • 
But love of a sister is changeless, forever; — 

No passion augments, and no wrong will abate. 

Remove from my brother this gaudy temptation. 

And drug him no more with your poisonous wine; 
Refuse him the drink, if he makes application, 

And when they would treat him, the money decline : 
Then charge us your losses, and we will repay you. 

And make it your interest, my brother to save. 
O, Walter, return from your wand'rings, I pray you ; 

The path of the drunkard descends to the grave! 

SALOON KEEPER. 

I care not for 3'ou, nor your idiot brother! 

Whoever will pay, can get brandy or wine. 
I sold him the drink, as I sell any other ; 

I keep no accounts and your offer decline. 

THE CHILDREN. 

Tune: "Is Your Lamp Burning, My Brother?" 
[Fourth Gospel Hymns, No. 81.] 

list to the voice of his daughters, — 
The lambs of his fold and his rod ; — 



:260 Temperance. 

Whom often he led by still waters, 
And fed in the pastures of God. 

But you, as the wolf in the fable, 

Your bloodthirsty nature display ! 

The shepherd you kill or disable. 

And then take the lambs, as your prey. 

Return us the parent you've taken ; 

We hope to restore him to life ; 
He's not by his mother forsaken, — 

Nor sister, nor children, nor wife. 
As father — we'll always adore him, — 

Though low, in the gutter, his bed : 
In love we will stoop to restore him ; 

And softly will pillow his head. 

SALOON KEEPER. 

Then take him away in a hurry 

His presence I deem a disgrace : 

Begone with your nonsense and worry, 
And let me no more see his face. 

WALTER (rising). 
Tune: "Home, Sweet Home." 

Your fraud is exposed; — I have listened and heard ! 
My stupor has passed and I know what occurred : 
I managed to spill the last potion you brought, 
And was not unconscious, as all of you thought. 
When drunk, and too stupid to know what I wrote, 
You forced me to give you my mortgage and note. 



Temperance. 261 

Since then, you've been trying to murder nie, here, 
With wine that was drugged, and with poisonous beer. 

How basely you plotted ! How falsely you planned ! 
You tried to defraud us of homestead and land ! 
You thought, when your poison had wasted my life. 
My home, you could wrest, from my children and wife : 
But now I'll defeat the shrewd schemes you have laid : 
The mortgage is void and will never be paid ; 
The pledge I shall take, and will always maintain ; 
The cup I renounce, and from wine will abstain. 

And dear ones, I promise no more you shall weep, 
For I am determined my pledges to keep : 
No more in the path of indulgence I'll roam, 
And you may, with transport, sing " Home, sweet, sweet 
home.'' 

ALL. 

Rejoice with the mother, — ^who's found her lost son ! 

Rejoice with the wife, — a new life has begun ! 

Rejoice with the sister, — whose brother has come ! 

And sing, with the children, of " Home, sweet, sweet home." 

CHORUS. 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home. 

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. 

— 17 — 



262 Temperance. 



DELIRIUM TREMENS. 



I've heard it said, and doubtless, it is true, 

That dying men, before they bid adieu, 

To time, to earthly scenes, and friends below, 

A lucid hour of light and reason know. 

In which to tell their wretched doubts and fears. 

And speak their last advice to friendly ears : 

And thus, a worthy youth, before he died. 

His story told to comrades at his side : 

*' To you, my reckless friends, I owe my fall : 
Till you enticed, I did not drink at all. 
Our trysting place was Engleman's saloon. 
Where oft we met, in friendship to commune. 
You led me, first, to take a choice cigar ; 
And then I drank to patronize the bar. 
1 found, at length, that litfuor waked me up, 
And I began to love the cheery cup. 
I had no thought that danger threatened me ; 
For, when I chose, I thought I might be free : 
But when I waked to consciousness, I found. 
My soul, ill servitude to drink, was liound. 
M}^ appetite proved stronger than my will ; 
And I was impotent its rage to still. 
My restless thirst had such complete control, 
That for one drink, I would have lost my soul. 
And had I stood on dread Niagara's brink, 
I would have leaped the falls, to gain a drink. 



Temperance. 263^ 

" In visions, night and day, I read my fate : 
I seemed to stand at Pandemonium's gate ; 
Before me, lovely plains and pastures lie ; 
Inviting parks and gardens charm the eye ; 
The voice of music falls upon my ear, 
And throngs of dancers on the green appear. 
I see, far off, a bleak and dismal vale, 
Beyond whose depths I hear a doleful wail : 
The path becomes precipitous and dark, 
Where slimy serpents writhe, and hell-dogs bark : 
I see the lightning on the murky skies, 
Above a gulf, where groans and curses rise : 
And, by the titful light, my eyes discern, 
Unnumbered drunkards struggling to return. 
But demons hurl them down the black abyss, 
Where hideous dragons growl, and hydras hiss. 
Along the path the wretched drunkards lie, 
Too faint to live, and not allowed to die. 
The fiery serpents wind around their throats, 
And on their hearts the filthy vulture gloats. 
Above the gate that guards this dismal land. 
With trembling limbs, and bloodshot eyes, I stand. 
I see the moderate drinkers pass in throngs. 
And hear their flippant words and maudlin songs. 
They lift their eyes, and on the portals glare. 
And read the warning thus recorded there : 
* This gate upon the verge of Temperance stands, 
And is the bourne of Pandemonium's lands : 
This pathway leads to death and endless woes. 
And none returns to earth, who further goes." 



264 Temperance. 

The warning checked the throng, but for a breath. 
And all passed blithely to the land of death. 
And then, I seemed to be by fiends controlled, 
And with them, through the open gateway, strolled. 

" In Pandemonium, from that day, I dwelt; 
And, all the terrors of the damned, I felt. 
At first I saw small serpents cross my wa3% 
And snakes, with diamond eyes, around me pla3^ 
At times, through riven walls, I got a glimpse, 
Of monstrous devils, with their laughing imps : 
They grew more fierce and ugly, every hour. 
Increased in numbers, and displayed more power. 
The serpents hissed — the demons grinned and scowled; 
And when I stirred, a hideous bull-dog growled. 
The snakes surround me, and my feet attack; 
I feel them crawling on my neck and back ; 
I tear my clothes aAvay, and hurl them off; 
And as I plunge and stamp, the devils scofi". 
What I suppose a door, is solid wall; 
I plunge against it — strike my head, and fall ; 
I lay unconscious, and have never heard, 
By whom I was removed, nor what occurred. 
But when to consciousness revived, I found, 
That on my bed I lay, securely bound. 
My friends, to save me from myself, had tied 
My hands and feet, and waited at my side. 
Alas! that I had lived to undergo 
Accursed torment and stupendous woe. 



Temperance. 265 

" My first sensation, when I waked, was thirst: 
I begged for drink, and when denied, I cursed. 
The water that they gave, brought no relief; 
My tongue was parched — my laboring breath was brief. 
Though brandy on my burning lips was dropped, 
My raging thirst was not a moment stopped. 
Again the hideous serpents crawl and hiss ; 
I see foul fiends from hell's profound abyss ; 
The pit sends up its flames to lurid skies; 
I cannot see the lost, but hear their cries ; 
Tormented sufferers plead, but demons laugh. 
And force their victims, molten lead, to quaff. 
I hear their curses and the clank of chains ; 
But neither prayers nor tears relieve their pains. 
Unnerved, I trembled as an aspen leaf; 
I prayed that death would make my respite brief. 
A bloody sweat broke out from every pore, 
And I supposed that I could bear no more. 

" But demons seized my bed and bore me off, 
And fiends and imps, by hundreds, laugh and scoff. 
They placed me on the very brink of hell, 
Where fiery waves forever ebb and swell. 
And now with horror, I beheld the lost. 
In endless woe, upon the billows tossed. 
Their piteous shrieks and agonizing cries, 
Could neither move my heart, nor melt my eyes. 
And there I was, with feet and elbows tied, — 
With fangs of serpents fastened on my side, — 



266 Temperance. 

Upon the very verge of hell's infernal pit, 

Whose depths sulphureous spray and flames emit : 

But mid these terrors, that which pained me worst, 

And gave me chief concern, was raging thirst ; 

For even there, upon the Stygian brink, 

My strong, imperious thirst demanded drink ! 

A fiend, on wing, above my pallet hung, 

And dropped some brandy on my swollen tongue ; 

He held his flask above the burning lake, 

And asked me, tauntingly, my thirst to slake : 

My appetite aroused my haughty will, 

And gave me superhuman strength and skill. 

I rose with full resolve to slake my thirst, 

Or, in the burning gulf, to be immersed. 

Before my strength, the futile cords gave way ; 

And springing forward through the fiery spray, 

I seized the brandy flask, and as I fell 

I drank its contents, on my way to hell ! " 

But here a shudder o'er the speaker passed, 
And ere his tale was told, he breathed his last. 



Temperance. 267 



flORA^E SLAFLIN AND THE YOUTH. 



Among the merchants who have wealth attained, 
Without a conscience seared, and honor stained, ' 
The name of Horace Chifiin stands supreme, 
And is revered, where virtue finds esteem. 

One afternoon, the merchant was alone. 
Recounting joys and blessings he had known, 
When at his side, young Arthur Hale appeared, 
And bowing humbly, as to one revered, 

" I've come," he said, " though I am scarcely known, 
To ask ten thousand dollars as a loan. 
Since others failed to pay me what was due, 
I now must borrow, or make failure, too. 
My father often said, before his end, 

' My son, in Claflin you will find a friend.' " 
The thoughtful merchant shook his head. 
And thus, in undecided language, said : 

" I fear, my son, that I have not on hand, 
The sum that your necessities demand." 
Then rising, " Come," he kindly said, " with me ; 
We'll take a glass of wine, and then we'll see." 

" I do not drink," the noble 3^outh replied. 

" You say you don't drink wine! " the merchant cried 

*' Then take a good cigar, — you w^on't refuse?" 

" 1 must," he said; "cigars I never use." 



268 Temperance. 

The merchant turned, and took his seat again, 
And asked in bitter tones, '' Do you refrain, 
From drinking, smoking, and from gambling, too? 
Are all the luxuries denied by you ? '' 

" From infancy," the noble boy replied, 

"I have those supertiuities denied; 
My father's warning I shall always hear, 
And these 'small vices,' as they call them, fear. 
And now, since there's no need for me to stay, 
I'll elsewhere try : I bid you, sir, good day." 

" But hold ! " the merchant cried; " "twill never do, 
To turn away a youth so strong and true. 
Come, Arthur, you are worthy, and for such, 
I've all you ask, and even twice as much. 
Your father found me when a struggling youth, 
Impressed upon me abstinence and truth — 
Advised me where my social hours to pass. 
And warned me to renounce the social glass. 
When, afterwards — arrived at man's estate, — 
A panic came, and found me in a strait. 
I went to him, as to my noblest friend. 
And, trembling, asked if he could kindly lend 
Five thousand dollars, to supply my need. 
And in my strait, to be a friend indeed. 
He first inquired of me, as I asked you, 

' Do you drink wine, or beer, — or smoke, or chew ? 

' I neither touch nor taste such things,' I said; 

' The path of total abstinence I tread.' 
He took my hand, and feelingly replied : 

' My boy, the sum you ask is not denied ; 



Temperance. 269 

For I perceive that you are strong and brave, 
And you shall have this day the boon you crave.' 
" So you," the merchant thus went on to say, 
" Have made a good profession, here, to-day ; 
The youth whose principles are fixed and strong, — 
Who shuns the fatal cup, and festive throng, 
And has no time in low resorts to spend, 
Is one to whom 'tis always safe to lend. 
And since, dear Arthur, you have proved so true, 
The sum you ask, I freely lend to you : 
And while your worthy conduct I can see, 
You'll always find a helping friend in me." 



THE LOST BABE. 



When gentle Albert first drew near, 
And whispered love in Julia's ear, 
She heeded not that fearful sign, — 
That on his breath were fumes of wine : 
She thought affection would entice. 
And draw him from the haunts of vice. 

A year of married bliss was spent. 
And then an infant son was sent ; 
And Julia hoped that this new bond, 
Would make her husband still more fond. 



270 Temperance. 

But ah ! a fiend possessed his soul, 
And bound him to the festal bowl; 
And daily, with a genial throng, 
He joined in ribaldry and song. 

The wife's beseeching tears and smiles, 
And little Harry's infant wiles, 
Would sometimes break the demon's charm, 
And shield him, for a time, from harm. 
The romping boy, with winsome grace, 
And laughter dimpling on his face. 
Could soothe the father back to peace, 
And bid his dissipations cease : — 
And Albert loved the precious child, — 
So merry, true and undefiled. 

When darling Hal was eight months old, 
And when the nights were damp and cold, 
The parents, with their infant, rode, 
On horseback, to a friend's abode, 
A marriage supper to enjoy, 
And show with pride, their sprightly boy. 

Now Julia's spirit, once endued 
With lofty pride, had been subdued. 
And humbled by her husband's fall. 
And by the thought that she knew all, — 
But married, freely, one whose breath, 
Was putrid with the fumes of death ; 
For well she knew that she, alone. 
Must for her senseless act atone. 



Temperance. » 2/1 

And, as they rode along, slie said, 
"■ Dear Albert, how my heart has l)led ! 
But now, sweet hope in triumph speaks. 
Since you've been sober full three weeks. 
And now, once more, my soul delight. 
By vowing, you will not, to-night, 
Destroy yourself, by taking wine,— 
But will the tempting howl decline." 

The husband pledged his sacred troth 
And ratified it with an oath ; 
And said, he'd rather lose his child, 
Than be again by wine beguiled. 

His shameful weakness was confessed, 
And with his hand upon his breast, 
He made the old and thread-bare vow : 
" One drink, each day, I will allow ; 
But never more than just one glass. 
In any day my lips shall pass." 
And poor, deluded Julia thought, 
That Albert's rescue had been wrought ; 
And, in her pleasure, gaily smiled. 
And kissed, again, her darling child. 

And when the river's roar was heard. 
The babe to Albert was transferred ; 
And as they forded through the tide, 
The trembling child in terror cried. 



272 . Temperance. 

The wedding feast was one of joy, 
And Julia proudly showed her boy ; 
On pleasure's wing the moments fly; 
The light of hope filled Julia's eye ; 
With Albert waiting at her side, 
She seemed again a happy bride ; 
And when the time had come to tell 
The hostess, and her friends, farewell, 
The boy was wrapped, with many a fold, 
To save him from the piercing cold ; 
And neighbors kissed the sleeping child, — 
Who raised his drooping eyes and smiled. 

But Avhere is Albert? There he stands, 
With glistening eye, and trembling hands; 
The fiends possess his soul, again, 
And Julia's heart is racked with pain. 
The spell-bound man intended right; 
He had not drank, before, that night ; 
And since his pledge admitted one, 
He thought he'd drink, and then be done. 

But appetite makes slaves of men ; 
You take one glass, it orders ten : 
We know the love of wine will rest, 
A torpid serpent in the breast; 
But when 'tis warmed to life, and nursed, 
It turns a monster, known as Thirst: 
And Thirst, Avhen warmed by just one drink^ 
A hydra grows, from which we shrink. 



Temperance. 273 

With moistened eye and fainting heart, 
Poor Julia mounted to depart. 
The child, well bundled up from liarm, 
Was borne upon his mother's arm, 
And Albert idly rode along, 
With silly jest, and trivial song, 
Until they reached the river, where, 
He claimed, profanely, he would bear. 
The little darling through the tide, 
Until they reach the other side. 

The change, as he demands, is made ; 
The bundle on his horse is laid, 
And when they reach the further shore, 
He stops, the burden to restore. 

The bundle is received with care ; 

But lo ! the darling is not there ! 
" My child ! Where can it be ? " she cries. 

With fiendish laugh, the wretch replies : 
" You never gave the boy to me ; 

And now he's drowned — there, don't you see ? " 

He pointed to the waters, wild, 
And there she saw her lovely child, 
By cold and angry billows tossed : 
And saw him sink — forever lost. 
A scream of anguish rent the air, 
And Julia fell, a maniac, there. 



274 Temperance. 



Long years have passed, and I've been told, 
A crazy female, haggard, bent and old. 
Unknown, except that Julia is her name. 
And no one knows her race, or whence she came, 
At stated times, appears upon these streets. 
And thus salutes each maiden that she meets : 
" Beware of wine, — the minister of death ! 
Refuse the man with wine polluted breath ! " 



TME BREWER'S AND THE ^RISTIAN'S OPINION OF 
PROHIBITION. 



THE BREWER S OPINION. 

Intemperate men will have their beer, 
Or other drink, however dear. 
In spite of fees, and taxes, paid. 
There's been an increase in our trade. 
The ardent spirits, used, are more. 
Than ever were consumed, before. 



Temperance. 275 

You cannot fix the price so liigh, 
But what the drunkard, still, will buy ; 
And while the gay saloons prevail, 
All efforts at reform, will fail. 
For centuries, they've tried, in vain, 
To break the drunkard's galling chain. 
While only moral means were tried, 
The drunkards, by the thousand, died. 
For moral suasion is but straw. 
And nothing will succeed, but law. 
Until the convict's stripes we don, 
The liquor traffic will go on. 

A large majority, no doubt, 
Would wipe the li([Uor traffic out : 
But in elections we are strong. 
And vote as one united throng. 
The laws, we ask, are humbly made, 
Because both parties need our aid. 
Some people want their daily drink ; 
And sober men will sometimes think, 
That what from licenses they raise, 
A portion of their taxes pays. 
Another hoodwinked class assent, 
That prohibition don't prevent ; 
And some few temperate men suppose, 
High license will the dramshops close ; 
But all such specious reasoning fails ; — 
For taxes don't reduce our sales ; 
And liquors are more used to-day. 
Than when we had no fees to pay. 



276 ■ Temperance. 



High licenses the brewers suit ; 
For none, the law, will execute. 
The buyers and the sellers say, 
They want all men to disobey ; 
And workers in the temperance cause, 
Will not enforce the license laws. 
The higher license fees are made. 
The less the law will be obeyed ; 
Unlicensed dramshops will be run. 
And nothing said, and nothing done. 
So license has no friends, you see, 
And whisky will be almost free. 
Long-sighted brewers want, of course, 
A law that none will enforce. 

But prohibitionists are strong, 
And hold the liquor trade is wrong; 
And of all men, b}- God accursed. 
These wild fanatics are the worst ! 
They always vote just as they pray. 
And in the end will gain the day. 
For, when they pass a law, you'll find, 
A dauntless party stands behind. 
To press and execute that law, — 
And if we chance to pick a flaw. 
And triumph, for a year or so. 
Yet, in the end, saloons must go. 
So here's the platform I adoi)t : — 
That prohibition must be stopped ! 



Tempekanck. 277 

THE christian's OPINION. 

Why should saloons be licensed in this land ? 

Can they the Christian's vote and prayers command? 

What good they do us, I would like to know ! 

For common sense declares they ought to go; 

They yield no fruit, but lives of sin and care, 

Whose end is woe and blackness of despair. 

Must I, for all this misery, atone, 

And for this sin account, as if my own ? 

The people gave the license, and I'm sure. 
I'm oiie of them, and must some blame endure. 
Now what's my duty? — for I'm well resolved, 
That in the sin, I will not be involved. 
To vote, is all the right that I can use ; 
And I would not this sacred right abuse ! 

To stop saloons, one plan that seldom fails, 
Is strictly to prohibit all their sales. 
And make a speedy punishment severe, 
For selling ardent spirits, wine or beer. 
If we can break the open dramshop's cliarm, 
Illicit sales will do but little harm. 

Yes, prohibition is the only plan, 
That ever, with success, was tried by man. 
Saloons are wrong, in God's impartial sight, 
And license, high or low, can't make them right. 
If right, then all may sell, — if wrong, then none: 
This logic's plain, and cannot be undone ! 



18 — 



278 Tempekance. 

Saloons have one support on which they cling ; 
And that's the paltry revenue the}'' bring; 
But count the ruin, crime and tears they cost, 
And for each cent that's made, a dollar's lost. 
It's poor economy to license sin, 
And thereby, sorrow and corruption win. 
If we must license crime, then let's be just. 
And license gambling, larceny and lust. 
No, I'll do right, — the dramshops ought to go ! 
I'll wash my hands of all their vice and woe. 
And here's the ticket Christians ought to vote : 
That "prohibition will our good promote." 

CONCLUSION. 

The candid brewer, and the Christian, say. 

That prohibition is the only way. 

To close saloons, and end their evil sway, 

With all their woe ; 
Then let us all for prohibition pray, 
Sustain it at the polls, in strong array, 
And in this badge and sign we'll gain the day : 
" Saloons must go ! " 



Temperance. 279 



THE SflEEP. gOATg AND JACKALS. 



A FABLE. 



PERSONS. 

Sheep Democrats. 

Goats Republicans. 

Jackals ... The Liquor Party. 

The New Party Prohibitionists. 



In Africa's wonderful desert, 

A beautiful oasis lies; 
No fishes inhabit its waters, 

Nor bird in its atmosphere flies ; 
But sheep, by the thousand, find pasture, 

In valleys untrodden by men ; 
And goats in the mountain are leaping, 

And jackals are hid in the glen. 

These denizens built, for their safety, 

A beautiful city with walls — 
Established a frugal republic, 

And founded asylums and halls. 
The goats were the clan of the mountain, 

The sheep were the tribe of the plain ; 
And forming themselves in two parties, 
Perpetual discord maintain. 



280 Tempeeance. 

No questions of policy split them, — 

Their interests always agreed ; 
And yet, in elections, each voted, 

The way that his faction decreed. 
They cared more for party than measures, 

And voted for office and place ; 
For when in their congress assembled. 

They made no distinction of race. 

The jackals were feeble in numbers,— 

Were hated and frequently feared ; 
For sometimes when mothers were sleeping, 

A lamb or a kid disappeared. 
And many a jackal, detected. 

Was tried by a jury, and hung: — 
For mercy is seldom extended, 

To such as devour our young. 

But law had been well executed, 

And jackals had seldom caused fear ; 
They entered society freely. 

And came to elections each vear. 
But soon the bright jackals discovered. 

The power they held in the land. 
Of choosing between the two factions. 

And placing their friends in command. 

The sheep and the goats became conscious, 
Their foes had the balance of power : 

So jackals were courted and feasted, 

And ruled, in the land, from that hour. 



Temperance. 281 

Each party bestowed on them favors ; 

They rose in the public regard, 
And always supported the party, 

That offered the highest reward. 

They came from the glen to the cit}^ ; 

Their credit and influence grew ; 
And giving themselves to indulgence, . 

The lowest of vices pursue. 
The lambs and the kids are now stolen. 

And eaten by jackals again : 
For laws that were once a protection, 

No officer now will maintain. 

The jackals put goats into office. 

Who plainly their weakness revealed ; 
For, trying to buy up the jackals, 

The laws against theft were repealed. 
But sheep, next election, succeeded. 

By making the jackals a bid. 
That no one should suffer for killing. 

Or eating a lamb or a kid. 

The sheep passed the law as they promised. 

And murder and violence reign : 
But mothers are weeping and wailing, 

Because of their little ones slain. 
A moan, as aforetime in Egypt, 

Each morning is heard on the air ; 
The noonday is clouded with sorrow. 

And evening is draped in despair. 



282 Temperance. 

A council is called of the city ; 

The fathers and mothers are there ; 
With weeping, they plead with the members, 

And beg them their darlings to spare. 
One speaker declares that the trouble, 

By sheep has been brought on the state. 
Another denies it, and charges. 

The goats are to blame for their fate. 

They spend the whole day in their wrangling, 

And no one proposes a plan : 
These quadrupeds wrangle and bicker, 

And act just as silly as man. 
Why don't they desert the old parties, 

And act for the good of the state ! 
For jackals are killing the children, 

While parents are rankling with hate. 

The meeting broke up in disorder ; 

And gloomy the night that succeeds ! 
For jackals by law are protected, 

And many an innocent bleeds. 
The council convenes in the morning, 

Denouncing each other again ; 
And, day after day, they continue, 

While little ones, nightly, are slain. 

How wild is the spirit of party. 

When children are traded for votes ! 

The goats become sheep in their folly, 
And sheep are as silly as goats : 



Temperance. '^83 

And both are as foolish as bipeds, 

Who rush to their ruin pell-mell, 
And heedlessly follow their leader. 

Although he may jump in a well. 

The wail of affliction grew louder. 

And reached the dull ear of the chief; 
Who hurriedly summoned the congress, 

To bring to the country relief. 
But congress, as usual, divided. 

And grievous dissensions arose ; 
And yet they agree in enacting 

The statutes the jackals propose. 

While congress was wrangling and lighting. 

The jackals were killing their young ; 
And yet not a member had courage, 

To ask that the jackals be hung. 
All knew what was right, but with fawning, 

Both parties the murderers court : 
And wise legislators, for party, 

Gave cut-throats and traitors support. 

No action was taken by congress, 

And after three weeks it adjourned. 
Each member supported his party, 

And thought his reward had been earned. 
Another election soon followed. 

And jackals succeed, as of yore ; 
And with their consent, the new congress, 

The laws against murder restore. 



284 Temperance. 

The people rejoice at this action, 

And think they will suffer no more. 
But oddly, the jackals are laughing. 

And murder the young as before. 
They still have the balance of power, 

And know that the law will be dead ; 
For no one will execute process, 

When certain of losing his head. 

The mice, in the fable, determined, 

A bell must be placed on the cat; 
But found not a mouse who would do it - 

For no one would dare to do that. 
So no one, of either great party. 

Had courage to execute law ; 
And jackals continued to murder. 

And felt no compunction nor awe. 

The wail through the land was distressing 

For nightly the young were destroyed. 
The law, with no party behind it, 

Was vain, unavailing and void. 
The people held daily their meetings ; 

Their voices were low and subdued ; 
The parties worn out and aiflicted, 

Admit they were wrong in their feud. 

One evening, when weeping together, 
Sheep Willow rcunarked to the rest: 
" As long as the State is dismembered, 
We'll be by the jackals (){)pi-essed. 



Tempekanck. 285 

So let us dissolve the old i)Hrties, 

And make one composed of the two. 

Let ' Order and Law ' be the motto, 
And safety and peace will ensue." 

Goat Maple replied : "I am willing, 

To meet every sheep as a friend. 
Our union will rid us of jackals. 

And murder and rapine will end." 
Sheep Laurel sprang uj) and embraced him, 

And shouted : " I'll join in the cause ; 
For then, without fear of the jackals, 

We'll make and we'll execute laws." 

The hope of relief was electric ; 

The city in concord arose : 
Both parties in harmony gathered, 

And spoke without fear of their foes. 
The jackals were frantic and raving, 

But every one laughed them to scorn. 
They snarlingly skulked to their kennel, 

To wish they had never been born. 

The sheep were one half the next congress. 

The other consisted of goats ; 
The jackals received no attention, 

And no one requested their votes: 
The laws were renewed against murder, 

And jackals were hung by the score; 
And now the proud mothers are happy. 

And fear tlieir destrovers no more. 



286 Temperance. 



MORAL. 



The two great parties, like the sheep and goats, 
Through jealousy, would cut each other's throats. 
Yet if the Democrats their faith proclaim, 
Republicans will vow they hold the same. 
When parties, for the spoils of oflEice, fight, 
Farewell to virtue, mercy, truth and right. 
When party spirit and intrigue prevail, 
The whisky fiends announce their votes for sale. 
'Twixt parties, whisky holds the casting vote, 
And chooses men the trafiic to promote, 
Who then, to pay the debt the party owes. 
Create saloons, with all their crimes and woes. 
'Tis said the traffic more afflicts mankind. 
Than famine, pestilence, and war combined. 
The sheep and goats gave only children's lives, 
But we give husbands, daughters, sons and wives. 
Nine hundred million dollars, yearly paid. 
Is only half the burden of the trade. 
The other half consists of orphans' moans, 
Of broken hearts, affliction, sighs and groans. 
One half of woman's tears and man's disgrace. 
We clearly to the liquor traffic trace. 
These evils are the price, we sheep and goats 
Pay liquor jackals to secure their votes. 
The laws that don't the whisky party suit. 
The officers refuse to execute. 
The brewers, like the cruel jackals, stand, 
And judge and jury wait on their command. 



Temperancp:. 287 

The State is captured by the liquor power. 
And whisky jackals murder and devour. 
They have a license, from the State, to kill, 
And claim they murder by the public will. 
Both parties patronize saloons, and then, 
Profess to be the best of temperance men. 

The path of present duty opens wide ; 

On trifles let good men no more divide ; 

The two old parties have become effete; 

They've served their day,— their mission is complete. 

Then let us make a party of our own, 

With prohibition as its corner-stone. 

No liquor votes we'll buy,- no bribes well pay. 

But make the fiends a rigid law obey : 

And when their occupation's gone, they'll hide. 

And, in gross darkness and contempt, abide. 



WaO KILLED ELLIS BELL? 



Come tell me, where should censure lie. 

When youths are led to sin and shame : 

Can he that sets the snare reply. 

That he that's caught, should bear the blame ? 



288 Temperance. 

Shall one that for a dram-shop prays, 
For all its wrongs be unconcerned ? 

Or he that sets my house ablaze, 

Den}'^ he owes for what is burned? 

We'll take the case of Ellis Bell,— 

A youth beloved by all the town : 
He practiced law, — had married well, 

And had already gained renown. 
His wife, fair Alma, and his boy, 

Made life as charming as a dream ; 
His home became his brightest joy. 

And duty was his favorite theme. 

A stranger came to town to dwell, 

And gave Joe Harman as his name; 
The people met him — liked him well. 

And saw no fault or vice to blame. 
They found him genial, shrewd and gay, 

And made him welcome everywhere ; 
And asked him in the town to stay, 

And try some useful business there. 

To start a dram-shop, Joe desired; 

And signers were with ease procured. 
So all the names the law required. 

Were got, and Joe's saloon assured. 
The preacher gave no warning voice ; 

The women sighed, but sighed in vain ; 
The dram-shop was the people's choice, 

And when they act, let none complain. 



Temperance. 289 

The elegant saloon was placed, 

Upon the most frequented street. 
Its shelves, the choicest liquors graced. 

And carpets spread beneath the feet. 
The spacious club room opens wide, 

To tempt the genial and polite ; 
And in dark holes, vile gamblers hide. 

And ply their business day and night. 

The well warmed rooms— the brilliant light. 

And gay companions, banished care. 
So many came who thought it right, , 

And Ellis Bell was often there. 
He had to patronize the bar, 

To prove he was not close or mean ; 
So bought, at first, a rich cigar, 

Then tasted wine, behind the screen. 

But appetite grew day by day. 

And Ellis soon became a sot ; 
And even friends, in sorrow say. 

The drunkard's doom will be his lot. 
His loving wife became more fond, 

And tried to win him from his fate, — 
But found him chained by habit's bond. 

And failed, because "twas now, too late. 

So many drunkards graves were filled, — 
So many human wrecks were seen, — 

So many hopes were crushed and stilled. 

That plaints and threats were loud and keen. 



290 Temperance. 

Pandora's box, they said, contained. 

Not half the ills the dram shop brought; 

And if no law these Avrongs restrained, 

Some desperate means would soon be sought. 

One morning, Ellis Bell and wife, 

Departed, with their darling boy, 
To meet some friends of early life. 

And spend a day of social jo}' ; 
But at the depot oflSce, learned. 

The train was forty minutes late ; 
So, to the ladies' room they turned, 

And sat down, patiently to wait. 

But Ellis speedily withdrew. 

And said his stay should not be long. 
His wife was sad, for well she knew, 

His appetite was stern and strong. 
And would inevitably draw, 

Her spouse to Joe's detested sink; 
And her imagination saw. 

Her husband almost crazed with drink. 

But now the train was coming fast ; 

And as the wife took up her child, 
She saw her husband staggering past. 

And knew that rum had made him wild. 
She saw him fall upon the rail. 

Before the crushing, grinding wheels ; 
She plunged, and with a piteous wail, 

Beside the mangled body kneels. 



Temperance. 291 

The lifeless limbs, by trembling hands, 

Were laid in place, with groans and sighs. 

A group of people round them stands, 
With pity streaming from their eyes. 

The stricken wife lets go her child, 

, And moans and gasps above the dead ; 

But, in her anguish, growing wild. 

Her lovely hands to God are spread. 

' Oh, Father, let me die ! '' she prayed, 

"And take my darling child to Thee I 
Till both are in the graveyard laid, 

There's hope for neither him, nor me." 
Then turning to the crowd she cried : 

" I ask you, friends, who bears the blame. 
That Ellis as a drunkard died, — 

And that his loved ones come to shame? " 

Along the group a murmur ran. 

And then a voice broke on the air : 
"Joe Harman is the guilty man, 

And he has other sins to bear." 
" Go bring him here," another cried, 

"And let him see these crushed remains; 
For Ellis, by his fault, has died, 

And blood his guilty conscience stains." 

A frenzy seemed to seize the crowd. 

And men start off, in haste, for Joe : 
" We'll bring him here," they cried aloud, 
"And here we'll end his days below." 



292 Temperance. 

By hundreds, people gathered near. 

And more and more their fury raged 

And when the men with Joe appear, 

Their wrath could scarcely he assuaged. 

But Joe requested time to speak, 

And stood upon a box, near by. 
He said, in accents kind and meek : 

" My friends, why bring me here to die ? 
I'm not as guilty as the rest ! 

This license casts the blame on you; 
It's seal will to the world attest, 

That I am innocent and true. 

"A hundred citizens I see. 

Whose names on my petition stand ; 
This paper recommended me. 

And I will read at your command." 
The mob was mute, and Joe proceeds : 

" Then, since I've only done your will. 
You can't complain because your deeds. 
Their usual evil ends, fulfill. 

" Why cast the blame on me alone ? 

If I must hang, then you should die. 
Let none that's guilty cast a stone : 

Let innocence the halter tie. 
Now, let the good and blameless come : 

I'm ready, — let the deed be done." 
But all was still, — the mob was dumb, 

And soon departed, one by one. 



Temperance. 293 



When Harman found himself alone, 

He did not to his house return, 
But hastened off to parts unknown, 

An honest livelihood to earn. 
The people mourn for Ellis Bell, 

And love the widow and her son 
But no saloon can liquor sell, 

And not a man will ask for one. 



WOMAN, MISSIOM AND TEMPERAME. 



0, say not that pleasure and fashion, 

Should woman's attention command ; 
When oljjects deserving compassion. 

Before her imploringly stand. 
God gave to her virtue and beauty, 

With sympathy, mercy and joy ; 
And plainh^ demands as her duty, 

That she shall these graces employ. 

Go forth where the heathen are dying, — 
And Avoman is doing her share. 

Go forth where the wounded are lying, — 
And woman, with cordials, is there. 

— 1!) — 



294 Temperance. 

When man is worn out and despairing, 
His wife will his courage renew : 

A ruler — she's mild and forbearing ; 
A subject — she's loyal and true. 

The temperance advocates waver, 

And thousands despondently sway ; 
But women are firmer and braver, 

And promptings of conscience obey. 
Their hands are for Missions extended, 

Their voices for Temperance plead ; 
And warfare will never be ended. 

Till both of these causes succeed. 

Through woman, the Church is succeeding ;- 

For females are two out of three : 
For Missions the women are pleading ; — 

And hence, the success that we see. 
Her heart is with love overflowing ; 

Her lips lift the burden of prayer ; 
And seeds of great truths she is sowing, 

Are yet a rich harvest to bear. 

We glory in woman's ambition. 

That asks the whole world as her part ; 
The heathen she claims for her mission. 

And Temperance takes to her heart. 
And then, when the ballot is granted. 

Her power for good will increase. 
The truth in all lands will be planted, 

And ghastly intemperance cease. 



Temperance. 295 

OMER's mom. 



AN ORIENTAL TALE; 



Ye youths and fair maidens, give heed to my tale, 
And turn, when the wine cup's temptations assail. 
The fall of young Omer the truth will recall : 
That wine is the evil most fatal of all. 

Fair Omer, the Good, as by friends he was named, 
Grew up in the faith that the Prophet proclaimed. 
The words of the Koran, as precepts of truth, 
Were graved on his heart, from his earliest youth : 
He learned from its pages, — so loved and revered, — 
That wine was a fiend to be hated and feared. 

He lived mid the gardens of Yemen the Blest : 
Was reared by his mother, — his father at rest ! 
That mother, — adored as an angel of light, — 
Was with him by day and in dreams of the night. 
Her heart was his home, where he loved to abide ; 
Her word was his law, and her hand was his guide. 
They loved the great Allah, and faithfully prayed ; 
And every command of the Prophet obeyed. 
The teachings of Hafiz— the fakir, or priest, 
They dare not neglect or transgress, in the least; 
And mother and son are controlled by his will, 
And all his commands and caprices fulfill ; — 
Do penance, make journeys, keep vigils or fast. 
That blessings may follow, and dangers be passed. 



296 Temperance. 

One day, when an order, the fakir had made, 
Had not, by young Omer, been fully obeyed. 
The fakir, to humble him, basely pretended, 
That God, for his sin, was intensely ofiended, 
And sternly, the choice of three crimes had imposed. 
That should be committed ere daylight had closed. 
The crimes that were named were : His mother to curse, 
On wine to get drunk, or to steal some one's purse. 
The youth was embarrassed — gave way to his tears. 
And sought out his mother, and poured in her ears. 
The terms of his pardon, imposed by the priest ; 
And asked of the three, which she thought was the least. 
His mother besought him : "0 curse me, my son ; 
Since God has commanded, so let it be done. 
Before they shall call you a drunkard, or thief, 
Ijet death send me joy and the grave bring relief." 
"0, mother," the youth, with affection, replied, 
" Since memory's dawn, you were always my guide ; 
From birth I've obeyed you, with filial devotion. 
And dearly I've loved you, with fervent emotion ; 
And now I would sooner curse Allah, above, 
Than speak an ill word to the mother I love. 
Indeed, I can't curse you; so now I am left. 
To either get drunk, or be guilty of theft. 
Betwixt the two sins, I think drunkenness least ; 
For wine does no harm, when its power has ceased." 

So Omer drank deeply, and wildly arose. 
Bereft of his reason, and stript of his clothes : 



Temperance. 297 

He dashed through the streets, as a demon of wrath, 

And friends who would save him are hurled from his path ; 

He rushed in a dwelling and stole a full purse, 

And cast on his mother a withering curse : 

He struck her with violence, — hurling her down, 

And leaving her, stunned, to the care of the town. 

The officers seized him and bore him to jail. 

In darkness and silence, his sins to bewail. 

The youth was discharged, after serving five years; 
And finding his mother, he met her with tears, 
And falling before her, raised sadly his voice, 
"And freely declared he had made the wrong choice: 
"Ah, mother," he wailed, " I made choice of the cup, 
I yielded my heart, and my freedom gave up, 
And let the fell spirit of wine have control 
Of reason and conscience, — of body and soul ; 
And lo, the cursed demon drove mind from its throne. 
And made me commit all the crimes I bemoan. 
The choice of three sins was presented to me, 
And choosing the least, I committed all three. 
To drink of the wine cup, mother, I feel. 
Is worse than to curse thee, or even to steal. 
I thought that by drinking my sin would be least, 
But found my transgressions were largely increased ; 
For drunkenness, merely, may not be so wrong, — 
But sins, without number, around it will throng." 



298 Temperance. 

THE WINE SUP IN mKNESg.— A FAITHFUL WIFE. 



James Allen, and his lovely wife, 

In fear and tnanbling, spent their life. 

His appetite had gained control. 

And love of drink enslaved his soul. 

To cure this vice, they spent their years, 

In prayer, anxiety and tears. 

A preacher, and a married man, 
James Allen's usefulness began, 
Among the people he had known. 
And where to manhood he had grown. 
Great numbers to his preaching pressed, 
And by his zeal the church was blessed. 
Esteemed and loved at home, his name. 
Was borne upon the breeze of fame, — 
His books were read beyond the seas. 
And colleges conferred degrees. 

It was his custom to dilate. 
Upon the drunkard's awful fate, — 
To teach his people self-control, 
An 1 not to touch the fatal bowl. 

But sickness, ghastly and severe, 
Confined him to his bed a year; 
And doctors, more demure than wise, 
The use of alcohol advise ; 
And spirits thoughtlessly prescribed, 
The patient, unawares, imbibed : — 



Temperance. 299 

So remedies have often proved , 

More baneful than the bane removed ! 

In time, the draughts he took at first, 

Would not allay his craving thirst. 

His appetite, each month, claimed more. 

Than had sufficed the month before. 

The tyrant. Habit, took control 

Of body, conscience, mind and soul ; 

And when the victim's health returned. 

The stimulant could not be spurned. 

His appetite grew stronger still, — 

Controlled his actions and his will ; 

And statedly, his wife supplied, 

The drink that could not be denied. 

With deep humility he owned, 

That moral sense had been dethroned ; 

And sometimes mournfully confessed, 

His soul, by demons, was possessed,— 

Whose fiendish thrall, and stygian spell, 

He neither could, nor would, repel. 

His anxious wife his fall concealed, 

And hoped his vice would soon be healed. 

In vain all human means were tried : — 
In vain the bottle was denied : 
In lowest dens of vice he lay. 
And came not home, by night or day ;— 
Or if induced to come again. 
He would not for an hour remain. 
His friends were mortified and sad ; 
But vile and wicked men were glad ; 



300 Temperance. 

And fiends, in exultation, laughed. 
And to his health, their glasses quaffed. 

The wife pursued him to his den, 
Amid the scorn and jeers of men. 
And used affection's art, in vain ; 
To bring him to himself again. 
She often in her closet bowed, 
Before the Lord, and prayed and vowed, 
That she'd devote her life to save 
Her husband from a drunkard's grave. 
She said she'd mourn his death, far less, 
Than 3'ears of life, with drunkenness. 

When nothing else would break the spell, 
They tried confinement in a cell. 
At first, with all a madman's rage, 
He tried to break his iron cage. 
Then on his bed in weakness lay ; 
And begged for drink, from day to day. 
But strength returned — his spirits came. 
And health restored his wasted frame. 
His faithful wife was sad and worn, 
And while he lived, she seemed to mourn. 
And though her husband was not ill, 
Her watchfulness continued still. 
Her prayers were daily offered up, 
That he might shun the fatal cup. 

When grave physicians thought him well, 
And gave him leave to quit his cell. 
He sought the house of God for prayer. 
And calling all his people there, 



Temperance. 301 

Made full confession of his shame ; 

And mildly cast, in part, the blame, 

On those who had presumed to think, 

Disease was worse than love of drink. 

His appetite, he said, remained. 

And ruled him still, if unrestrained. , 

And through temptation's fatal power, 

He might be lost, at any hour. 

He asked his people's aid and prayers, 

To save him from the tempter's snares. 

From week to week, and year to year. 
He preached the gospel, far and near. 
But from his path, by night or day, 
His wife was never far away. 
To save him as he walked, from harm, 
Her hand was ever on his arm. 
Her presence, in temptation's hour. 
Possessed a fascinating power. 
Her words were kind, her accents mild, 
And he obeyed her as a child. 
Her watchful eye possessed a charm, — 
Her voice was soft, her hand was warm. 
She suffered nothing near to come. 
To tempt his appetite for rum ; — 
And got for sacramental use. 
The grape's pure unfermented juice. 
Her loving heart, and busy care. 
Her daily watch and nightly prayer. 
Brought life to him with hope and grace, — 
But gave to her a careworn face. 



302 Temperance. 

Her restless eye and pallid cheek, 
Of weariness and suffering speak. 

Ah ! woman — she is meek, but strong 
To bear and expiate man's wrong ! 
She, on his cruel altar, lies, 
^ And, as a willing victim, dies ! 
Her agony and death atone, 
For sins and vices not her own : 
Yet so it is, — though good and pure, 
Man's chastisement she will endure. 

Above a gulf of fiery wrath, 
James Allen treads a dizz}'^ path ! 
His faithful wife is at his side, 
To save him, if his footsteps slide ! 
He trips, — and trembling on the verge, 
He hangs above the molten surge ! 
But she puts forth her ready hands, 
And he again in safety stands ! 
'Twas thus she bowed beneath the rod. 
To save her husband's life for God. 

For twenty years this noble wife, 
In love and duty, spent her life : 
And he a great divine became, 
And left a good and honored name. 
He died lamented, and but few 
His vice and failing ever knew. 
One precept he has left behind, 
Which, if observed, will bless mankind : 
In health, the wine cup is a curse ; 
In sickness, it is Q,ven worse ! 



Temperance. 303 

And, sick or well, of wine beware, 
And shun it as a fatal snare ! 

My record's true, and it is said. 
The widow movirns not for the dead ; 
For since her husband found his rest, 
With anxious cares she's not distressed ; 
But finds the calm and sweet repose, 
That God on faithful ones bestows. 



WORK AND VOTE AS YOU PRAY. 



Go, work, in Humanity's name, 

And give Prohibition a boom ; 
A war upon dramshops proclaim, 

And read the distiller his doom. 

Chorus:— Go, work, in Humanity's cause — 

The call of your conscience obey ; 
Go, plead for prohibitive laws. 

And fail not, to vote as you pray. 

Saloons, for a century past, 

Their victims, by thousands, have slain ; 
And men have discovered, at last, 

Old plans to reduce them are vain. 



304 Temperance. 

Philanthropists, long ago, erred, 

And many are blundering still ; 

They license an ignoble herd, 

Their fellows to madden and kill. 

But Money, for licenses gained. 

Won't pay the physician his fees ; 

With blood every dollar is stained. 

And reeks with the slime of disease. 

Old parties will ask for your aid — 

Will tell you the dramshop shall go,— 

Yet break every promise that's made, — 
As years of experience show. 

Then vote with the party that's right, — 
Whose platform condemns the saloon 

And enter with zeal in the fight. 

And triumph is certain and soon. 



Temperance. 305 



WflM? LO¥E, OR LIQUOR ? 



HE. 

My Darling, I offer my heart and my hand, 
And bow as a servant, to wait thy command. 

SHE. 

I love thee, but thou art the servant of wine ; 
The slave of another, can never be mine. 

HE. 

But, Dearest, thou knowest I love thee so well, 
The demon that rules me, will yield to thy spell. 

SHE. 

That demon will rule over body and soul; 
Will fetter thy will, and thy passions control. 

HE. 

save me, henceforth, I will act as a man ; 

If love cannot save me, there's nothing that can. 

SHE. 

God's love may restore thee, tho' deep be thy fall ; 
But love of us mortals, saves no one at all. 

HE. 

Two powerful rivals contend for my soul ; 

The bottle would rule me, or love would control. 



306 Temi'erance. 

SHE, 

But love never joins in contention or strife ; 
In war it must die, but in peace it has life. 

HE. 

Then cast me in prison, or bind me in chains; 
Restraint will be bliss, if thy love still remains. 

SHE. 

But lovers are mockingbirds — joyous if free; 
But cage them together — they'll never agree. 

HE. 

You tell me, twixt bottle and love, I must choose ; 
Then give me the bottle, though thee I must lose. 

SHE. 

With wine as my rival, I never can dwell ; 
You've chosen the bottle, I bid you farewell. 



Temperance. 307 



Pfilli'S SUPPER ON WILTED SABBASE. 



Phil. Hunter used to drink, and come home late, 
When through carousing on the street ; 

And always found a platter, bowl, or plate. 
With cabbage, pork, or rice, to eat. 

Now, Phil, was always hungry, when he came ; 

And though the room was dark and cold, 
He dare not rouse his sulky, sleeping, dame. 

And give her cause to rail and scold. 

She sometimes made him luscious cabbage stew. 
To cheer him, when he came from town ; 

But cabbage, when 'tis cold, is hard to chew ; 
Yet Phil, with gusto, gulped it down. 

One night, the starch, was in the washbowl made, 
And caps and cuffs were put to steep ; 

Beside the bowl, Phil's usual lunch was laid. 
And then, the wife lay down to sleep. 

As usual, Phil, came home, and sought his food, 
And seized the washbowl by mistake ; 

He drank the starch, and caps and cuffs were chewed, 
Until he thought his jaws would break. 



308 Temperance. 

"These cabbages," he growled. " are awful tough ; " 
But still he chewed with all his might, — 

"I never ate,'' he yawned, "such stringy stuff" — 
But down he gorged them out of sight. 

The washbowl empty, Phil, lay down to sleep ; 

And such a dream as Philip had. 
Would kill a demon from the fiery deep, 

Or run an elf or goblin mad ! 

Promethean vultures tore his bleeding heart ; 

A thousand fiery scorpions stung ; 
A hag gave vitriol baths, to heal the smart, 

And molten lead, to cool his tongue. 

But Phil, got well, again, and now partakes, 
No more, of beer, or cabbage stew; 

He says the beer will make him dream of snakes. 
And cabbages are hard to chew. 



Temperance. 309 



Tt?6 Worst Drunkard,— Tl^e Scbolar's Trick. 



This town is noted for its vile and drunken men ; 

This very moment, in this house, E'U show you ten. 

Tom Swill is sitting yonder, — drunk as he can be I 

His breath's as deadly, as the fatal upas tree : 

And even now, he holds a bottle in his hand ; 

Yes, there, he's fallen down, I knew he could not stand ! 

Just let him lie — I'll show you, now, another sot : 

Look yonder! What's that drunkard's name? for I've forgot. 

You hear him hiccough, — see he tramps upon the snakes ! 

His boots are full of vipers, — see, in fear, he shakes ! 

0, how I'd hate to be a drunkard's wife or child I 
The very sight of one, will almost run me wild ! 
And there is one, I fear, far more than all the rest : 
He's called, the great and noted drunkard of the west. 
His eyes are bleared, — his teeth are sharp, — his nose is red, — 
His claws are long, — he has a wild hyena's head, — 
Two flames of burning whisky, from his nostrils, pour, 
And when he speaks, you hear a horrid monster roar. 
This drunkard may be here: I'll look around, and see. 

[ Turns and points at the teacher.^ 
Yes, there he is — he sets his glaring eyes on me ! 
Just hear his hideous growl, — I feel his fetid breath, — 
His mouth is wide, — I'm in the very jaws of death ! 
He's ready now to spring, — 0, where, where, can I fly I 
O, come, and save me, friends — come quickly, or I die ! 

[ruiis.'] 



310 Temperance. 



NE¥ER DRDNK BUT OME. 



I'll drink no more, while I, my wits, possess ; 

Though, once, I did get drunk, I must confess ! 

Vile whisky made me feel so big and proud, 

I undertook to speak, before a crowd. 

They put me on a box, and held me up. 

And when I drank another foaming cup, 

I felt my eloquence sublimely rise, 

And looking grave, and pointing to the skies, 

!• opened wide my mouth; but not a word. 

From its unfathomed depths, was ever heard ; 

A hiccough came, and then a grunt and cough ; 

And, though I strained, my mouth would not go off! 

T started home, when something jerked me round, 

And I was feeling upward for the ground. 

The gutter rocked me, but I could not sleep ; 

I tried to walk, but found the road too steep. 

'Twas hard to climb, — T had to step so high , 

I looked, and, down below me, was the sky ! 

And when I turned around, the street turned too ; 

The ground sprang up, and at my forehead flew : 

I looked, and saw the houses of the town, 

One-half rush up the street, — the other, down. 

And then the whole came crushing on my head ; 

1 know no more — because this killed me dead ! 



Temperance. Ml 

JOHN BIBBER'S SPREE. 



John Bibber was a gentleman, 

Of credit and renown, 
Who always took a dram too much. 

Whene'er he came to town. 

One day, when on a glorious spree, 
He went to Black's hotel, 

And chose an upper, private room, 
To have a drinking spell. 

When in a boozy, winding way. 

He staggered to a seat; 
And on a table, near the wall. 

He raised his wayward feet. 

A looking-glass of ample size, 
U{)on the wall was placed ; 

And, on the other side, a man, 
Our boozy hero faced. 

John Bibber rose, — the man rose, too; 

And who are you, he cried; 
The stranger acted just like John, 

But not a word replied. 

Now Bibber was a gentleman, — 
Magnanimous and true ; 

He therefore poured a glass of wine, — 
The stranger poured one too ! 



312 Temperance. 

And when he pushed the glass across, 
The stranger did the same ; 

And John suspected, that of him, 
The man was making game. 

He fiercely frowned upon the man ; 

But he frowned back again ; 
And Bibber, sorely tried, declared, 

He thought the man insane. 

But John possessed a noble heart. 
That no resentment knew ; 

And so, he filled another glass ; — 
The man filled his glass too, 

They both arose, as if. at once, 
And each his glass extends : 

With smiles they drank each other's health, 
And seemed the best of friends. 

Again, John asked the man his name ; 

But no reply was heard : 
With moving lips, the stranger mocked, 

But uttered not a word ! 

The two got mad, and shook their fists 
And John abused him well : 
" You are a low-flung scamp," he said, — 
"As any man can tell. 



Temperance. 313 

' You blear-eyed, red-nosed pup, — 
You ugly, drunken dog ! 
No man would act, as you have done. 
Unless when filled with grog. 

' I'll make the land-lord put you out, 
You low, ill-mannered whelp: 
?}^ow leave the room, at once, I say, 
Or I will ring for help." 

He pulled the bell, the landlord came, 

And asked what he could do ; 

" Here, take this man away," John cried; 

" That's what I want with you ! 

" I asked a nice and private room : 
But here's a man I see I 
And he's an ugly, ill-bred cur, — 
And drunk as he can be I 

The landlord said his guest was wrong, 

That no one else was there : 
So Bibber led him to the glass, — 

But stopped in awe to stare. 

Why, here's another man, he said ; 

And now, you see, there's two! 
And he that last came in, appears, 

The counter-part of you. 



314 Temperance. 

But look at him, — the other man, — 
The God-forsaken hound ! 

No meaner, viler, uglier face, 

With man or fiend is found ! 

Why, friend, the landlord said. 

That face, you see, is thine : 
And you don't know yourself, it seems ; 
Because you're drunk with wine ; 

How Bibber felt, and what he said, 
'Tis not my part to tell; 

Sufiice to say, he took the pledge, 
And still observes it well. 

No dramshop keeps a looking-glass ; — 
The reason why is plain ; — 

If drunken men could see themselves, 
They'd never drink again. 



Temperance. 315 



HOW TO STOP MAD-DOSS. 



There was a queer and ancient town, — 

I can't say when nor where, 
That passed a law that mad dog's tails, 

Must all be cut off s<iuare. 
The owner of the dog must pay 

A fee for what was done. 
And then the mad and bob-tail dog, 

As free as air might run. 

In course of time, a rabid dog 

Comes rushing through the streets, - 
And with his sharp and deadly fangs, 

Bites everyone he meets. 
One child has died, another lies, 

In agonies of death ; 
The darling sufferer writhes in pain. 

And screams with every breath. 

In dread alarm, the Board convenes, 

And reads the law with care : 
It said, " C'ollect the license fee. 

And cut the tail off square." 
-Vnd so they bobbed the mid -dog's tail. 

And turned him loose again ; 
And soon the town was filled with dogs. 

And twenty men Avere slain. 



816 Temperance. 



The dogs were licensed — fees were paid, — 

The treasury was rife ; 
But ever}' dollar in the vault, 

Had cost a human life. 
Although so many people died, 

In agonies untold, 
Some claimed the dogs brought revenue 

And fill their safe with gold. 

At length the Board convened again, 

And looked into the law ; 
They argued till the break of day, 

And could not pick a flaw. 
Some said it was economy. 

To license mad-dogs thus ; 
And at one time, it seemed, the Board 

Would break up in a muss. 

At length an old man rose and said ; 
" This law was drawn with care ; 
It only says, cut off the tail, — 

But does not tell us where. 
The tail and back bone are the same, 

You see the law is right; 
We'll bob their tails behind their ears, 

And not a dog will bite." 

To this the council all agreed ; 

The plan is good, they said ; 
For rabid dogs, they all declared, 

Can't bite when they are dead. 



TempeuaiNck. 317 

So all the mad-dog's tails were cropped, 

Close off behind their ears ; 
And now a mad dog never bites. 

Nor on the street appears. 

There's rabid dogs in other towns: — 

I mean the whisky holes,^- 
Where men are often badly bit, 

And lose their lives and souls. . 
Don't try to regulate saloons. 

And leave them still to bite ; 
But crop their tails behind their ears, 

And kill the things outright. 




HOME-ON ESRTH HND IN 
HEI¥EN. 



PART I. ON EARTH. 



THE EMBLEM OF REST. 

No word ever spoken, — no symbol or token, 
Is sweeter and dearer than " home " ; — 

The type of the rest reserved for the blest, — 
A lodestar wherever we roam. 

The bird seeks its nest, for comfort or rest, — 
The fox makes its hole in the loam, — 

The beast has its lair, and man may repair, 
For solace or peace, to his home. 

The Persians possess, no word to express. 
Conceptions of " home," and of " wife " ; 

And 'mong them we find, few persons inclined, 
To lead a pure, virtuous, life. 

Give man a warm place, of beauty and grace, 
And soon it will cease to be bright; 

But woman will take, a desert, and make 
A garden and home of delight. 



Home. 319 

The Lord, when below, a home, did not know, 
But prone on the ground, took his rest ; 

For how could he bear man's sorrow and care, 
If home, and its joys, were possess^ed? 

THE HOME OF MY INFANCY. 

How happy and bright, the years of delight, 

I spent in the home of my birth, — 
Where father and mother, and sister and brother, 

Brought heaven and bliss upon earth ! 

For six happy years, unclouded by tears, 

My life was a rapturous dream : 
'Twas joy to obey my father's just sway, 

That ruled in the household supreme. 

My mother caressed me, — my father's hand blessed me, 

While fondly I sat on his knee ; 
My brother's embrace, and sister's sweet grace. 

Made home an elysium for me. 

But ere I was seven, I passed from that heaven ; 

For both of my parents had died ! 
Ah ! well I remember, that fatal September, 

That robbed me of guardian and guide ! 

I wandered in quest of kindness and rest. 
But failed, like the dove from the ark ! 

No loving one smiled on the parentless child. 
And earth was inclement and dark. 



320 Home. 

An orphan, indeed — I oft felt the need, 

Of counsel and care of a mother ; 
But seldom I heard an encouraging word, 

Or met with my sister or brother. 

With no place of rest, on earth's throbbing breast, — 

In youth I continued to roam ; 
And as I grew older, the world appeared colder. 

And deep were my sighs for a home. 

HOME, AFTER MARRIAGE. 

The bliss that I sought, my marriage day brought, — 

For then, I established a home : 
My children grew round me, and lovingly bound me, 

And checked all occasion to roam. 

For forty-eight years, of sunshine and tears, 

I've moored in this haven of rest : 
Two sons, who have died, with the Savior abide. 

And sport on the Isles of the Blest. 

Three daughters yet live, their parents to give, 

Esteem and affectionate care : 
The group will be seven, when gathered in heaven. 

We form a full family there. 

HOME DELIGHTS. 

How thrilling the pleasure, — how precious the treasure, 

We find in the household retreat! 
Contentment is sure, and happiness pure, 

Where bosoms in harmony beat. 



Home. 321 

From office and store, when daylight is o'er, 

We hasten where bickerings cease, 
Like mariners cast, by ocean's rude blast, 

Seek harbors of safety and peace. 

As lambs, when they stray, on mountains of prey, 
Hear gladly the shepherd's kind voice, 

So wanderers who come, to the welcome of home, 
In smiles and embraces rejoice. 

When evil assails, or sickness prevails. 

The dear ones at home will attend us : 

When dangers alarm, we're shielded from harm, 
By those who would die to befriend us. 

The world may berate us, and enemies hate us, — 

Yet all in the household are kind : 
In that dear retreat, affection we meet. 

And solace and sympathy find. 

If sickness descends, when parted from friends, 

Or when one is off on the billow, — 
No nurse like a mother— a wife or a brother, 

Can cheer him, and smooth down his pillow. 

In hardship or grief, we find a relief, 

From sympathy's tear or caress : 
In death's fatal hour, we witness the power 

Of love, to remove the distress. 



322: Home. 

A genuine treasure, and founiain of })lea.8ure, 
Is found in an infant and heir, 

Whose sweet, njerry voice, makes parents rejoice, 
And drives from their bosoms all care. 

A babe to caress, — to fondle and dress, 
Will make the whole family gay ; 

And few can conceive the void it will leave, 
If God calls the darling away. 

No home is complete, except where you meet 
A babe, in the household to reign : 

And she is no mother, who'll give to another, 
One child, though a dozen remain. 

In bright wintry weather, 'tis pleasant to gather 
The children at night round the table : 

While all the gay throng unite in a song, 
Or laugh at a joke or a fable. 

Or list to the story of national glory. 
While one reads the volume aloud : 

The history inspires a love for our sires, 
Of whom, we, so justly, are proud. 

FAMILY WORSHIP. 

But ere on their beds, they nestle their heads, 
The household is summoned for prayer : 

The mirth is suspended, all labors are ended, 
And solemnly, each takes a chair. 



Home. ^23 

The father then leads their devotions, and reads, 

A chapter from God's holy word ; 
And then the rapt throng, by soul-moving song, 

To pious affections is stirred. 

And reverently kneeling, with spir.it and feeling. 
The patriarch pours forth a prayer,— 

With strong supplication, for peace and salvation, 
And blessings his dear ones may share. 

That homestead is blessed, where Christ is a gue^t, 

And incense is burned on His altar ; 
Where hope never pales, — where love never fails. 

And faith does not languish nor falter. 

HOMK IN OLD AGE. 

No place upon earth, like the home of one's birth. 

So sweetly, on memory, lies : 
Till death's fatal chill, he thinks of it still. 

And wants to go there when he dies. 

The visions of age, contemplate a stage. 

Where passes the drama of youth : 
His early life seems more charming than dreams, 

Though clothed in the vestments of truth. 

The dwelling-house seems, in the glamour of dreams, 

So truthful, yet wondrously fair : 
The father and mother,— the sister and brother. 

And even the watch-dog, are there. 



324 Home. 

He dreams of the yard, with velvety sward, 
And joins with his brothers in play : 

He drinks from the well, and roams through the dell, 
And fields in the verdure of May, 

In fancy he winds, mid fruit trees and vines. 
And then in the hall takes his stand, — 

Where love was the chain, — the spur and the rein, 
That governed the family band. 

When nearing the tomb, and lights, beyond, loom, 
He thinks of the friends over there, — 

And longs for a home, where his dear ones may come, 
Its pleasures and glories to share. 

ASPIRATIONS. 

I hope, when I die, my wife may stand by, 

To hear my last laboring breath ; 
And daughters may bow, to kiss my cold brow. 

While passing the valley of death. 

Then while I remain, on earth's lowly plain, 
0, grant me a home with its bliss, — 

Where loved ones unite, in a feast of delight, 
And discord is soothed by a kiss. 

There's no place like home, wherever I roam, — 
And sweetest of memories are tliere : 

But heaven that lies beyond the blue skies. 
Has homesteads more charmingly fair. 



Home. 325 



PAR T 11. IN HE A VEN. 

The home we most prize, is that in the skies, 
Whose glories, the saints shall behold : 

The bliss they receive, no heart can conceive, 
Nor poet, nor prophet has told. 

Our family ties are renewed in the skies, 

Where parents with children abide: 
Each household is given a mansion in heaven, 

Where all that will please is supplied. 

THE RIVER OF LIFE. 

From under the Throne, the stream that is known, 

As River of Life, softl}^ starts; 
And after it laves, the dais with waves. 

To opposite quarters departs. 

Now gliding, now darting, — now joining, now parting,- 

The river ubiquitous seems : 
High bridges of gold, of value untold. 

At intervals span the gay streams. 

The waves as they glide, with system divide, 

The plain into beautiful seats ; 
And millions of isles, of various styles, 

Form tasty and charming retreats. 

— 21 — 



326 Home. 

the isles of the. blest. 

The river surrounds each garden and grounds, 

Creating an isle of delight ; 
And on it is seen, in glittering sheen, 

A palace transcendantly bright. 

A mansion of gold, of brilliance untold, 

On each of the islands is found ; 
And fruit trees and bowers, parks, gardens and flowers, 

With all that is lovely, abound. 

In mountain and dale,— in forest and vale, 

Magnificent tenements stand ; 
And many decide, on streams to abide, 

And elegant vessels command. 

Spectators behold a palace of gold, 

Through vistas of orange and palm ; 

And visitors pass over carpets of grass. 
Delightful with ottar and balm. 

Mid fruit trees and ferns, a labyrinth turns, 
And leads among arbors and bowers ; 

And cherubs in throngs, make lively, with songs, 
Their grottoes, composed of fresh flowers. 

Varieties, rare, of orange and pear. 

Would even an anchorite tempt ; 
And apple and plum, more luscious become. 

Than ever an epicure dreamt. 



Home. 327 

The fountains at play, send life-giving spray, 

To foster and water the ground; 
And breezes rejoice, with whispering voice, 

And scatter perfume all around. 

With exquisite taste, the mansion' is graced, 

With balcony, cornice and towers ; 
Verandas extend, from entrance to end,^ 

Adorned with magnificent flowers. 

The portals unfold, on hinges of gold. 

Revealing the glories within ; 
But tongue can't narrate, the joys that await, 

The mortal redeemed from his sin. 

A home is bestowed as the final abode. 

For each of the saints of the Lord ; 
And here shall be found, through eternity's round, 

His household in perfect accord. 

HEAVENLY DELIGHTS. 

No idlers infest the isles of the blest, 

For all are on duty intent ; 
Yet seasons of leisure are given to pleasure. 

For thus would the Lord have them spent. 

To cultivate beauty, in heaven's a duty ; 

Our happiness pleases the Lord ; 
For mirth that is rarest, and forms that are fairest, 

The heavens high honor accord. 



328 Home. 

Their bodies are fair, and lucid as air, — 
Revealing their thoughts as they rise ; 

And no one conceals the pleasure he feels, 
Nor wishes his plans to disguise. 

With natures so true, and open to view, 
Deception and fraud are unknown : 

So, friends are sincere, and harbor no fear, 
That love will betray or disown. 

In sylvan retreats, on bridges and streets. 
The angels and saints are abroad : 

On duty intent, eternity's spent. 
In daily thanksgiving to God 

No sickness or sorrow, — no fears for to-morrow, 
The tenants of heaven assail ; 

For fixed is the truth, that vigor and youth,' 
With saints, as with angels, prevail. 

No angel or saint ever utters complaint ; 

All faces are beaming with smiles : 
No tear ever falls, — no terror appalls; 

But joy is supreme in the isles. 

THE THRONE. 

Afar can be seen, in grandeur supreme. 
The throne of the Ancient of Days ; 

And near it, the sages, and saints of all ages, 
Approach for thanksgiving and praise. 



Home. 329 

Aloft in the skies, — beheld by all eyes, 

The gorgeous Shekinah impends; 
Transcendently bright, its glorious light, 

To heaven's far limits, extends. 

The angels, on wing, exultingly sing. 

And worship the Lord in the air ; 
While saints, without fear, or presumption, draw near. 

And offer thanksgiving and prayer. 

The martyrs are nearest, to Him they love dearest, 

And bow at the feet of their Lord ; 
Apostles abide, on thrones at His side. 

Enjoying their promised reward. 

THE PATRIARCHS. 

And David, the king, and Solomon sing, 

Or play upon timbrel and lyre ; 
Immortals are thrilled, and heaven is filled, 

With music from God's mighty choir. 

And Adam and Eve, their children receive, 

In one never ending reunion ; 
But numbers so great, reception await, 

That short is each happy communion. 

With Moses they meet,— recline at his feet. 

And hear him contrasting the sight. 
Of Canaan as seen, in mantles of green. 

And heaven resplendent with light. 



330 Home. 



CHILDREN. 



The infant, that dies, goes home to the skies, 
No more from its parents to sever : 

On mother's soft breast, it nestles to rest, 
A jo}^ in the household forever. 

An infant retains the age that it gains. 
When death ends existence below : 

Its ailments shall cease, — its pleasures increase, 
But spirits, in age cannot grow. 

Every mother has smiled, with hope that her child, 

Will still be an infant above : 
She knows it will wait, before the white gate, 

To meet her with infantile love: 

THE POOR. 

The poor and oppressed, — in heaven find rest, — 
The wicked, from troubling, there cease : 
h A ] ' in life, are wear}" of strife, 

Will find an abundance of peace. 

No beggar applies, for alms, in the skies ; 

For sickness and want are not there ; 
But saints come below, where sorrow and woe, 

Give scope for compassion and care. 

THE MEETING OF FRIENDS. 

The friends whom we know, and love here below, 

Will always be with us above : 
No enmity, ever, companions shall sever, — 

For discord is cast out by love. 



Home. 331 

How joyous the meeting,— and heartfelt the greeting, 
When spirits of loved ones have come ! 

Their aspect of sadness, is changed into gladness, 
As soon as they enter their home. 

Old comrades, below, each other will know, 

And friendship, at once, is renewed ; 
Whenever they meet, in fellowship sweet. 

The story of life is reviewed. 

FLyiNC4 THROUGH HEAVEN. 

The saints are supplied, with wings, at their side, 
Which whisper, as doves, in their flight : 

As eagles, on high, they soar through the sky, 
And gaze on the realms of delight. 

No pencil can paint, the scene, that the saint, 

Beholds from his perch, in the skies : 
No landscape so fair, — nor pageant so rare, 

Is seen by terrestrial eyes. 

On wings never weary,— on scenes never dreary. 
They look, Avith their far-seeing eyes ; 

And realms, ever new, arise to their view, 
While passing through radiant skies. 

No sunlight to daze, — Shekinah's mild rays, 

Afford, to the land, a soft light : 
No clouds to obscure, — but heavens so pure, 

That distance don't lessen the sight. 



332 Home. 

A labyrinth seems, to be formed by the streams, 
Mid mansions, whose beauties excel 

The castles, so fair, erected in air. 

By charms, or the sorcerer's spell. 

The saints, as they soar, behold on the shore, 

The bathers in rapturous glee ; 
And thousands of sails, propelled by the gales, 

Bear mariners, joyous and free. 

And households are seen, at meat on the green, 
And Jesus comes to them, and speaks : 

The children, with glee, claim seats on his knee, 
And cover, with kisses, his cheeks. 

They watch, Avith keen eyes, the Lord as He hies, 

To gladden regenerate souls ; 
And learn how, by One, so much can be done, 

When infinite wisdom controls. 

PANORAMA OF HEAVEN. 

The saints, from their height, behold with delight, 
A grand panorama of heaven, — 

And often review, with zest ever new. 
The paradise Jesus has given. 

The objects that we, by telescope, see. 
The saints, without glass can descry : 

The landscape of smiles, — the mountains and isles, 
Are seen by the natural eye. 



Home. 333 

They see from their height, the rill of Delight, 
That springs from the fountain of Glee,— 

As onward it whirls, through arches of pearls. 
And carols through forest and lea. 

They follow the rill, as, caroling still, 

It's lost in the lakelet of Mirth,— 
Whose waters of glass, in clearness surpass, 

The brightest and purest of earth. 

The streamlet enlarges,— is covered with barges. 

And gondolas merrily dashing : 
And far down the vale, is many a sail, — 

And many a paddle is splashing. 

THE PLEASURES THE SAVIOR IMPARTS. 

The Father is seen, in majesty's mien, 

Aloft on His glorious throne ; 
But Jesus descends, to meet with His friends, 

And claims the redeemed as His own. 

The Lord is a guest, in the homes of the blest, 
And pleasure and knowledge imparts : 

The wisdom and grace, that shine in His face, 
Enlighten and gladden all hearts. 

The truths, that, below, the sages don't know, 
The saints, when on high, understand ; 

As mysteries rise, Christ opens their eyes. 
And causes their souls to expand. 



334 Home. 

The jjlan of salvation, and Christ's incarnation, 
Are themes, of which saints first inquire : 

God opens their hearts, — His wisdom imparts, 
And gratifies every desire. 

As here, so above, no grace equals Love : 
It beams in the Father's kind face: 

The Spirit's sweet voice, bids saints to rejoice, 
And Jesus wins all by His grace. 

Where rich pastures grow, and cool waters flow, 
His sheep, the Good Shepherd protects ; 

On meadow or rock, He cares for the flock, 
And daintiest herbage selects. 

The saints, by the side, of Jesus, their guide. 
Go blithely on meadow or wave : 

His teachings impart, new zeal to the heart, 
And on it. His image engrave. 

Their journej^s embrace the regions of space, 
And stars, at creation's far ends: 

They stand upon earth, — the world of their birth. 
And sweetly commune with their friends. 

The more that they learn, the stronger they yearn, 
For knowledge of something beyond ; — 

And this, when revealed, new ardor will yield, — 
To which the dear Lord will respond. 



Home. ? 

Their hearts are afire, with eager desire, 
For usefulness, wisdom and pleasure ; 

And Jesus reveals, the friendship He feels. 
By granting them joy Avithout measure. 

WHY WEEP FOR THE DEAD ? 

Then why should we weep, Avhen darling ones sleep. 

If they into Paradise rise, — 
Where God will restore, the friends gone before. 

And wipe every tear from their eyes? 

Or why make complaint, when God takes a saint, 
And tenderly bears him on high, — 

And places him where, forever he'll share, 
A home of delight in the sky. 

OUR RECEPTION IN HEAVEN. 

" Here, Hope is immortal," is 'graved on the portal, 
To comfort the in-coming saint : 
Here Faith's sacred fire shall never expire, 
And Charity never grow faint. 

I pray that the Lord, my name may record. 

In Life's holy book, as an heir ; 
And choose me a place, — a home for my race. 

And gather my family there. 

And who would stay here, in sorrow and fear, 
When realms, so enchanting, invite : 

Our parents entreat us, our children will greet us, 
And friends, in communion, unite. 



336 Home. 

And when you have come to heaven and home, 
And find all the dear ones are there, — 

The throng will unite, in songs of delight, 
And angels the transport will share. 

ETERNITY. 

When ivy shall climb the tombstone of Time, 
And old Immortality's gray, — 

And halting Eternity, bows from infirmity, 
The saints will be youthful and gay. 



^<? /^^\ 9^ 



^^^%^' 



LO¥E SND MSRRmGE. 



ALAMARD INLOYE. 



I wonder what it is, that ails me ! 

I've such a feeling of unrest ! 
I wander, listless,— courage fails me, 

And I am troubled and oppressed. 
My heart was free, before I met her, 

And joyous as the morning lark; 
But now I'm bound with cord and fetter. 

And all, within, is chill and dark. 

How strange! The mystic spells, that bind me. 

Remove my chains, and set mc free! 
How strange ! Those brilliant eyes that blind me, 

Give all the light by which I see ! 
I wonder if 'tis love, that pains me ! 

Oh, no ! it can't be that, I feel ! 
"Tis true, her voice or eye restrains me; 

Yet they don't hurt — but rather heal. 

All men declare that she is pretty, 
Obliging, gentle, kind and sweet ; 

They say she's witching, wise and witty, 
And thus she's praised by all I meet. 



338 Loyp: and Marriage. 

Then mine is not a lover's folly ; 

These cruel qualms, I'm sure, will cease 
Some drug will cure my melancholy, — 

Some healing balm will give me peace. 

But in her presence, all my ailings. 

Dissolve, like mist before the sun. 
Her tender heart forgets my failings. 

And pardons all the ill I've done. 
It is not love, for I've not spoken. 

That word, since first I saw her face ; 
I've not bestowed one loving token, 

Nor clasped her hand in fond embrace. 

Don't say, I love her; no, I fear her ! 

She seems an angel from the skies ! 
With fear and trembling, I draw near her, 

To feel the glamour of her eyes. 
I almost fear to speak, before her; 

As she commands me, so I do ; 
I'm not in love, but I adore her, — 

I cannot fear, and love her, too. 

They say that I've been caught by Cupid — 

Love's merry, sly and cunning sprite. 
If so, why am I dull and stupid ; 

Why can't I speak my love outright ! 
I wish that I could go and tell her. 

How sweet she is — how pure and true 
Perhaps the shock would not repel her ; 

And who can tell what she would do 



Love and Marriage. 339 

But faint heart never won fair lady ; 

The brave, alone, deserve the fair ; 
The sun's not down, because 'tis shady ; 

And nothing hurts us like despair. 
These noble truths revive and cheer me ; 

I'll give it up ! I am in love ! 
I'll go at once ; I'm sure she'll hear me ! 

I'll have her hand, or have her glove ! 



THE UU I LO¥E. 



When e'er I meet upon the street, 

A girl that don't salute me. 
The truth is plain, she's dull and vain. 

And not the girl to suit me. 
But when I pass a sprightly lass, 

Who smiles and courtesies sweetly, 
I know she's smart, she wins my heart, 

And takes me in completely. 
And, thus I find, that you are kind, 

And smile upon me brightly; 
And when we meet, in house or street, 

You always speak politely. 



340 Love and Marriage. 

The man well-bred, will bow his head. 
To all the girls that pass him ; 

But for neglect to show respect, 

As low-born, you may class him. 



THE LOYER'S SOLILOQUY. 



A brilliant rose, in blushing grace, 

Too modest to expose its face, 

May make the bower its hiding place, 

And bloom in covert there ; 
And though we do not see the rose, 
Yet every one its presence knows, 
For far and wide, its fragrance flows. 

And dwells upon the air. 

'Tis thus her spirit, every hour. 
Where'er I am, with mystic power. 
Regales me as the hidden flower. 
And makes my heart rejoice. 



LOVK AND MAKRIA(iE. 341 

And something whispers in my ear. 
That her pervading spirit's near ; 
And I imagine that I hear, 
The music of her voice. 

I meet her in my raptured dreams ; 
We rove by sylvan vales and streams, 
And talk of love and kindred themes, 

And promise not to sever. 
Can she, though absent, cheer me so? 
Has perfect bliss been found below ? 
Can dreams of her, such joy bestow ? 

Then let me dream forever ! 



An Apologue. — Unyeilicg Nature's Pyramid, — Wonjaq 
ttie Sopestone. 



The Maker's original plan, 

Was closed in creating the man, — 

For Eve had not yet been designed. 
God's image on man was impressed, 



342 IjOYK AN1> MARRIAf4E. 

T}ie angels their envy confessed, 
Yet hailed him as noblest and best, 
And peerless in person and mind. 

A day for rejoicing was named ; 

A congress of worlds was proclaimed, 

And every intelligence called ; 
A pyramid, spacious and grand, 
Of all of God's creatures, was planned, 
Where each in his order should stand. 

And one, as the best, be installed. 

Its base, of dead matter, was made ; 
Then brutes, in their order, were laid,- 

Improving each step as it grew ; 
The top, it was said would be graced. 
By one, the most lovely and chaste, 
Unequaled in beauty and taste, — 

And purest the universe knew. 

Each order, by rank, takes it place, 
Around the great pyramid's base, 

And millions are seated in state ; 
The pyramid cannot be seen, 
For vestments of cloud intervene, 
And form an impervious screen ; — 

So all in expectancy wait. 

At length, the dim curtains arise. 
Attracting intently all eyes, 

And showing a lovely facade. 



Love and Makria(;e. 34;> 

The clouds, as they slowly tlispersed, 
Exposed the dull matter, at first. 
Then brutes, from their privacy, burst. 
And angels, in ranks, were displayed. 

Each moment the interest grows, 
As order on order arose. 

And rank and position were found : 
But when the grand apex drew near. 
And mighty archangels appear, 
The millions gave cheer upon cheer. 

And Heaven re-echoed the sound. 

The man was the next to the last ; 
And loud were the cheers as he passed ; 

For he as God's image was hailed. 
But when the proud summit was gained, 
A breathless solemnity reigned, 
And everyone's eye-sight was strained, 

To witness the copestone unyeiled. 

But lo, when tlie apex was bare. 

The masterpiece sought, was not there, — 

But only a pedestal laid. 
'Twas clear, that one higher than all.. 
Was yet from God's figures to fall. 
For there was a place to install 

One nobler than God ever made. 

In wonder the multitude gaze. 
And lift not their voices in praise, 

But stand in astonif^hiu(^nt (luiiil>. 



844 Love and Marriage. 

Then softly the whisper began, 
That God had improved on his plan, 
And one more aesthetic than man, 

And fairer than angels would come 

The builders are sorely dismayed ; 
But claim that a being was made, 

To stand on the pyramid's brow, — 
A creature of beauty and grace. 
And lovely in person and face, 
Would yet be installed in the place ; — 

But none could be found for it now. 

The search for the copestone began ; 
Through earth the swift messengers ran, 

And followed the sun in his round. 
The heralds proclaimed it afar, 
The angels made lightning their car, 
And carefully searched every star, 

But nothing to suit could be found. 

When lo, from the welkin a throng. 
Approaches with banner and song. 

And woman is borne on their anna. 
More lovely than angels she seems ; 
Her eye with intelligence beams ; 
Her voice is the music of dreams. 

And modesty adds to her charnis. 

The angels with decorous care. 
Their charge to the pyramid bear, 
And she on the pedestal stands. 



TiOVE ANJ) Marriagk. 345 

A tremor convulses her frame, — 
Her cheeks are with blushes aflame, — 
She bows, her respect to proclaim. 

And covers her face with her hands. 

The great congregation arise, — 
Enchain on the maiden their eyes, 

And murmur their heart- felt applause. 
And quickly their murmuring ends, 
For God from a cloud that impends, 
With marvelous grandeur descends, 

And heed irresistably draws. 

"The work," He proclaimed " We began, 
Ajid purposed to end with the man. 

But friendship and love were unknown ; 
The angels were faithful, but cold, — 
The man, though exalted and bold, 
Was not by affection controlled, — 

But selfishness ruled him alone. 

" A masterpiece then was designed. 
With every perfection combined, 

The acme of beauty and grace. 
We made her man's love to inspire. 
We gave her a form to admire, 
A heart with devotion afire. 

And modesty veiling her face 

" The angels, though sinless and fair, 
With woman can never compare, 
They never can diffidence feel. 



346 LovK AND MAintiAf;!-:. 

Tliey give you no tender ('nil)race. 
No love for each other you trace, 
And tears never soften their face; 

While woman these virtues reveal. 

^' And now. by dominion and throne, 
Let honor and homage be shown. 

And angels give vent to their voice: 
Let woman, as sweetest and best, 
By angels and man be confessed ; 
Let loudly your praise be expressed ; 
\\''hile all constellations rejoice." 

The stars from the heavens came down. 
And formed for the maiden a crown. 

And Love on its front is emblazed : 
The clouds are sent back to the rear, 
The lightnings flash brightly and near, 
And rainbows around her appear, 

And all by the splendor are dazed. 

The voices of millions unite, 
In pagans of praise and delight, 

And incense is wafted above: 
" Let woman,"' they shout, " though the last, 
As first of all creatures be classed ; 
For she has all others surpassed, 

In modesty, beauty and love ! ■' 

While blessings and praises resound. 

The maiden descends to the ground, 

And diffidence beauty imparts ; 



LoVK ANM) MaHHIAGK. 

But strangely enough while they blessed, 
Her lips by no angel were pressed, 
And none of them smiled or caressed,— 
For angels are lacking of hearts. 

But man with pure love is inspired ; 
His heart with devotion is fired ; 

His eyes all his tenderness speak ; 
And rushing with passionate haste, 
And casting his arms round her waist, 
God's last and best gift is embraced. 

And kisses are pressed on her cheek. 



347 



It is not Sood that Man should k Alone 



When time and life began, 
The first created man 

Through Eden's walks was shown 
The garden seemed so fair, 
He wanted no one there, 
Its wealth of bliss to share : — 

But he would dwell alone. 



348 Love and Makkia*;!!;. 

In vain and lofty pride, 
And arrogance he cried, — 

" The world is all my own : 
Of bliss I'll take my fill, 
And I'll be happy still. 
For none can cross my will, — 
Since I shall be alone." 

But, sated and annoyed, — 
The world became a void. 

And man was heard to moan,- 
That constant pleasure cloys. 
Satiety annoys. 
And solitude destroys 

The man that dwells alone. 

Without a house, or home. 
The man was left to roam, 

And often heard to groan , 
He hung his harp, by day, 
Upon a willow spray, 
And heard the zephyrs play, 
" No man should dwell alone." 

At night his wretched bed, 
Upon the ground was spread, — 

His pillow was a stone ; 
His feet were always bare. 
He never combed his hair. 
And in his dismal lair, 

He spent liis nights alone. 



Jjove and Markia(;e. 849 

Ambition first retired, 

And hope, at length, expired, 

And left the man a drone ; — 
For he whose only guide, 
Is appetite or pride, 
Will, as the brute, abide • 

In idleness alone. 

But God, who understood, 
Declared it was not good 

For man to be alone ; 
80 woman came to share 
His trouble, toil and care, 
And half his ills to bear, — 

Yet leave the bliss his own. 

When man beheld her face, — 
Her loveliness and grace, — 

He claimed her for his own : 
And from that day to this. 
The man has known the bliss. 
Of woman's bridal kiss. 

And will not dwell alone 

She coaxed him from his lair. 
She softly combed his hair, 

And made his heart her throne ; 
And cooing as the dove, 
She taught the man to love. 
And lifted him above 

The brutes thai dwell alone. 



350 Love and Makkiage. 

Without a loving wife, 
How wearisome is life ! 

How little good is known ! 
Then let the heart have sway, 
The voice of God obey, 
And with the Scriptures say, 
" No man should dwell alone. 



AN OLD MAN'g LOYE. 



Dear Cora, though I'm old and gray, 

And move with step unstable. 
My heart is just as warm to-day 

As when my locks were sable. 
A girl, 'tis said, should rather crave 

To be an old man's darling, 
Than be a young man's fawning slave. 

And hear his constant snarlifig. 



I-.OVK AM) MAKKlA<iK. 351 

My love is no ecstatic tlirill — 

No wild, insane emotion ;— 
But more like some perennial rill, 

Than like the storm-toss'd ocean. 
_Tis strong, without a jealous thought,— 

Is tender as a brother's ; • 
And I rejoice when you are sought, 

And sweetly wooed by others 

If I were free to love again. 

My heart would never H utter : 
No lovely face could turn my brain,— 

No silly words I'd utter : 
I'd dress as now, and would not sing 

In verses sweet and tender ; 
Nor to my idol offerings bring, 

Nor love-sick billets send her. 

For I respect myself too much. 

To love in such a fashion : 
l^ut own I'm thrilled by beauty's touch, 

Yet give no place to passion. 
For mine's a love that fathers feel 

When lovely maidens meet them ; 
For they, by impulse, seek the weal 

Of charming girls that greet them. 

'Tis thus I love thee, Cora, dear ; — 

Thy joy and sunshine won me ; 
For you with pleasant words, draw near. 

And never scorn nor shun me. 



352 . Love and MARKiA(iE. 

You always, when we meet, bestow 
On me such sweet affection, 

That, in return, I ought to sliow. 
For 3''ou a predilection. 

I think, dear Cora, that you ought 

To let me call you " Daughter ;"' 
For in my soul there's not a thought 

But's pure as crystal water. 
My loving heart would only seek 

Upon itself to press you ; 
Would only ask to kiss your cheek, 

And kindly sav, '' God bless you. 



A WIFE'S UNDYINS hOm 



The moonlight is soft, and the fields are inviting: 

Come, husband, let's walk in the meadow apart ; 
For I am enraptured, when you are reciting. 

The story of love, in sweet words from the heart ; — 
That story, they tell us, is old and fictitious, — 

And soon we'll grow weary and careless, they think ; 
But love is like wine, that, from age, is delicious, 

And time gives it body, and flavors the drink. 



Love and Marriage. 35H 

The brook, from the mountain, comes dancing and leaping 

And merrily sings as it troops through the lea; 
But when it's a river, it seems to be sleeping, 

And silently wends its deep course to the sea; 
So love, at the first, was a shallow emotion, 

And made a great noise, like the brook as it goes: 
But now it's a river, profound in devotion, 

And deeper the stream the more softly it Hows. 

Come, tell me you love me, — I never grow weary ; 

As well might the songs of my mother grow old, — 
Or even the home of my childhood grow dreary, 

As words of affection seem lifeless and cold. 
Come tell me, again, the delightful old story, 

You told me before your betrothal to me : — 
The love that you show is my lifeguard and glory, — 

And death be my portion, if parted from thee. 



A Mother's Plaint over the Mariiage of Her Daughter, 



Tis dreadful, to give up my daughter, 

My first-born, my hope and my stay I 

My tears have been poured out like water, 
And often, in secret, I pray. 



1 



354 Love and Marriagk. 

The love that I bear, is a mother'vS^ — 
More pure than of sister or wife; 

In depth, it surpasses all others. 
And terminates only with life. 

I hoped that my Emma would never, 

Be tempted to wander away ; 
1 thought she would love me forever. 

And close by her parents would stay 
But she has a husband selected, 

And none disapprove of her choice ; 
For Archie is loved and respected, 

And I, in my son, will rejoice. 

But 1 must be brave and decided,— 

And smile though my heartstrings divide ; 
Or own I was grossly misguided, 

When I took the vows of a bride. 
But marriage to me was a blessing ; 

And why may not Emma be right? 
Then every objection suppressing, 

I'll cheerfully let them unite. 



IvOVE AND Mahhiage. 355 

^ kbool girl's Rapture over the Marriage of fier T.eaGljer. 



Oh girls! did you bear of the wedding? 

Miss Jane will be married to-day ! 
We never can get a good teacher, 

But somebody steals her away ! . 
And now she will go to the country, 

And sadly we'll bid her good-bye : 
Alas ! it was thus from my childhood,— 

The dearest get married, or die. 

Her husband shall tind nic a rival, 

Whose love is as true as his own ; 
But 1 must lie low at her footstool,— 

While him she exalts to a throne ; 
My heart and affections are with her, 

Wherever her lot may be cast ; 
I'll pray for her happiness daily, 

And give her my love to the last. 

Come, girls, let us go to the wedding; 

As nymphs, let us wait on the bride: 
We'll deck her with orange and n\yrtle, 

And gaily attend at her side ; 
We'll dance as a bevy of fairies. 

And vows of devotion renew; 
We'll cheer her with songs while she's with us, 

But weep when she bids us adieu. 



H5fl TjO\'K ANU MAHR[A(iK. 



THE MUlSfl misl 



The girls are dainty rogues, 'tis true, 

And full of fun and art, sir ; 
For when I first met cunning Sue 

She sweetly stole my heart, sir ; 
And when the parson came and tied 

The pleasant nuptial band, sir, 
The crafty Sue stood by my side 

And slyly stole my hand, sir. 

And then she stole my house and farm ; 

It was, indeed, a shame, sir ; 
She made them charming, bright and warm, 

And even stole my name, sir. 
Upon the street I used to roam. 

And nightly drink and play, sir ; 
But now she's fixed so nice a home 

That there I'm bound to stay, sir. 

She keeps the house too nice and neat, 

And everything too clean, sir ; 
And when she makes me wipe my feet 

I think it very mean, sir. 
On rocking chairs I have to sit. 

And back and forth I sway, sir; 
And when I'm forced to cough and spit. 

A vase is in my way, sir. 



Love and Markiage. 357 

I am a prisoner every day, 

With cords of love I'm tied, sir ; 
In Susie's bonds I want to stay, 

And with her I'll abide, sir; 
For Sue has pilfered everything, 

And now she's stolen me, sir, 
But makes me happy as a king. 

And wealthy, proud and free, sir; 



THE BRIDEGROOM'S EOTASY. 



Mary, darling — Mary, dear, 
Let me whisper in your ear 
Words of love no friend should hear,- 

Lest he think me raving. 
Mar}^ I am all your own ; 
In my heart I've set your throne. 
Where, as queen, you rule alone, — 

All my soul enslaving. 

Soon, the holy marriage rite 
Shall our souls as one unite. 
And I'll bask in genial light 
Beaming from thy beauty. 



358 LovK AND Marria(;k. 

And when I, in joy and pride. 
Clasp thee as my charming bride. 
Thou shalt be the star to guide, 
And incite to dut)'. 

Trees, since I became thy choice, 
Clap their hands, and hills rejoice. 
And I seem to hear thy voice. 

Even when I'm sleeping. 
On life's journey we will start, 
Bidding every care depart. 
And we'll give both hand and heart 

To each other's keeping. 



AM NOT m AMEL. 



I've reached the halcyon days of youth, 

When life with dazzling sheen, is charming ;- 
When fancy wears the garb of truth, 

And flatterers, like flies, are swarming. 
They say, I'm not a child of earth, — 

Am not of human mould or fashion. 
But am a sprite of Heavenly birth — 

An angel, free from sin or passion. 



Love akj) Makkiage. 359 

Such compliments the tlatterer knows, 

Ave false, and won"t deceive or harm me; ■ 
And they are silly, who suppose, 

To fill an angel's place, would charm nie. 
The angels do but serve, while man 

In God's own image was created: 
About his path, since earth began, 

And at his bed, they've watched and. waited. 

And man's the Savior's special ward : 

For Jesus loved, and died to save him. 
He made him nature's soverign lord. 

And all created beings gave him. 
If I'm of such a noble race, 

To call me " angel," is blaspheming : 
I'd never take an angel's place : — 

For lost, they were not worth redeeming. 

How wretched is an angel's lot ! 

Without a soul, how sad and dreary ! 
No iiesh nor blood — no downy cot, 

To rest his phantom lincbs, when weary I 
Before the Hood, the angels came, 

And married man's fair daughters, gladly: 
But now we find, no silly dame, 

Will wed a soulless angel, madly. 

I am no angel — I am proud, 

That from good Eve I am descended ; 
And am with human soul endowed, 

Where faith and hope, with love, are blended. 



360 Love and Mahhiage. 

Tliat I'm no angel, I'm right glad, — 

For I'm so fond of beaux and sporting. 

Were I an angel, 0, how sad I 

For that would put an end to courting ! 



WEDDED LOVE, 



THE MARRIAGE OF ADAM AND EVE. 



In God's good plan, the primal man. 

Was left in solitude to wojider ; 
How dull his life, without a wife, 

It is appalling, now, to ponder ! 
For consorts cheered both beast and bird, 

And all were blessed in love's communion 
But Adam pined, for he could find. 

No mate to claim, in marriage union. 



Love and Markiage. 361 

The Lord on high, with pitying eye, 

Looked down on Adam's desolation, — 
And, to his tent, sweet Eve was sent, — 

The last and best of God's creation ! 
Of man's own Hesh she stood forth fresh, 

And fairer than lier loveliest daughters^ — 
With perfect heart, devoid of art. 

And pure as pearls from India's waters. 

When Eve advanced, the man entranced. 

Before her kneeled in fond devotion ; 
Though not a word was said or heard, 

Yet both were thrilled with strange emotion. 
His arm was placed around her waist, 

And on her cheek a kiss was planted : 
He whispered low what none may know ; ^ 

But all he asked was sweetly granted. 

No wedding feast — no mumbling priest — 

No bans announced — no invitation : 
But angel choirs with harps and lyres. 

In heavenly strains made proclamation. 
The beasts draw near — the birds appear. 

And God Himself on clouds is seated ; 
When, on the green, the pair is seen. 

With one grand chorus the}^ are greeted. 

They stand beneath a myrtle wreath, 

And canopy of orange flowers; 
And lightly tread a floral bed, 

Bv angels formed from Eden's bowers. 



o62 ■ Lo^'E AND MAiii;iA(;E. « 

The eagles spread their wing.s oerhead, 

And nature's voices hush, with feeling,— 

When side by side the groom and bride 
Descend, before tlieir Maker kneeling. 

Then bursts aloud, from rifted cloud. 

The voice of God, like distant thunder : 
" In wedlock's rite, these, I unite, — 

And whom I join, let no one sunder!" 
The bride and groom their feet resume. 

And humbly bow to all around them : 
He takes her hand, and as they stand. 

Interprets, thus, the rite that bound them 

" In tiesh and bone, she is my own : 

I'll love — I'll cherish and protect her ! 
For from my side, was formed my bride. 
And, as my fiesh, I shall respect her. 
For wedded love is prized above, 

And blessed beyond the love of mother ; 
*_nd man and wife are one through life, 
And each essential to the other." 

The angels sung and eyery tongue 

Was hope, good will and joy, expressing : 
At Adam's tent, the day was spent, 

And God came down to add his blessing. 
The marriage tie, thus formed on high, 

B}'^ God, himself, was consecrated: 
Of Eden's bliss, there's only this. 

To fallen man, has been translated. 



Jji)\-E AND Marriage. H63 

Demosthenes— a legend says — 

Was once of lovely woman speaking, 
The men who heard, were deeply stirred, 

And left for home, their spouses seeking. 
I'm not amazed, when wives were praised, 

That husbands hurried off to meet them ; 
How (^ould they roam away from home, 

When lovely wives are there to greet them. 

Though man was made to be obeyed, 

And woman came to serve and love him, 
Yet when love's art had touched his heart, 

He knelt, — and now she stands al)ove him. 
Alas, for those, the fates oppose, — 

Who, on the brink of wedlock, tarry I 
The truth is plain — they'll never gain 

The bliss thev seek, until thev marrv, 



364 Love and Marriage. 



TO MISS JULIA F 



ON THE OCCASION OF HER MARRIAGE, OCTOBER 14, 1886. 



Sweet Julia marries in October, 

When woods and fields are dull and sere- 
When Nature's garb is grave and sober, 

And winds bewail the dying 3'ear. 

But Julia's voice will banish sadness, 

And glowing skies and seasons bring ; 

Her smile of love, and song of gladness, 
Will make her life perpetual Spring. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 



ON THE MCDONALD-SEVIER MARRIAGE, AT RICHMOND, MO. 



HYMEN, THE GOD OF MARRIAGE, SPEAKS. 

Ye Muses and Graces, come forth to my altar, 
And honor a bride as she offers her vow ; 

With rapturous songs of devotion, exalt her. 

And wreathe from the myrtle a crown for her brow. 



Love and ^[AKUiA<iE. 365 

The eyes of all mortals to spirits are holden ; 

They see not your forms, but are charmed with your voice : 
Then let your concealment your meekness embolden. 

To sing in the choir, and in dances rejoice. 

CHOIR OF SPIRITS. . 

We come from the ocean — we come from tlie mountain; 

The ocean sends pearls, and the mountain sends wealth ; 
We come from the forest — we come from the fountain ; 

The forest sends flowers,— the fountain sends healtli. 
In beauty her brow passes pearls from the ocean ! 

In vain, for such w^ealth as her heart, you may seek ; 
No flowers so sweet as her breath of devotion ; 

And roses can't vie with the health of her cheek. 

HYMEN, TO THE NYMPHS. 

They come, — a noble youth and lovely maiden ; 

Go, spread the flowers, with which your scarfs are laden. 

THE CHOIR OF NYMPHS. 

All hail to thee, excellent daughter ! 
• All hail to thee, beautiful bride ! 
No gem, of such exquisite water, 

Is hid 'neath the mountain or tide. 
We scatter the orange before you. 

And myrtle, the emblems of love : 
The blossoms that fall will assure you, 

"^'our nuptials are witnessed above. 



36() Love and Makkia(;e. 

hymen, to the graces. 
Go deck the lovely bride with fragrant Howers 
You've culled and brought from sunny southern bowers. 

THE GRACES. 

This lioral gem upon her temple shows, 
Her ruby cheeks surpass the blushing rose ; 
This snow-white lily on her heart we place, 
To prove her soul is purity and grace ; 
These violets arranged upon her dress, 
Her modesty and diffidence express. 
Her lovely brow a crown of laurel feels, 
And on tlie leaves of palm she softly kneels. 

HYMEN, TO CLIO, THE MUSE OF HISTORY. 

Let History record the vows as spoken ; 

And ties that God has bound, must not be broken ! 

CLIO. 

The record's made; and as these lines I scan, 
I cry, " How great and fortunate is man ! " 
God blessed him just as Isaac blessed his son ; 
He gave him all, and left immortals none. 
In wedlock man is with more blessings crowned, 
Than all the hosts above have ever found; 
And man took wedlock with him, when he fell ; 
And this made envious angel-bands rebel. 



IjOVE and Makkia(;e. 367 

hymen, to eijato, the muse of poetry. 

Now k't the Muse of Poetry proclaim, 

The lionors due the happy bridegroom's name. 

EKATO. 

This laurel wreath with myrtle intertwined 
The poet and the lover's brow shall bind : 
The Muses on his earliest efforts smiled. 
And proudly claimed him as their honored child. 
The world has read his charming lines and asked, 
" What bard, beneath his pseudonym, is masked? " 
His thrilling notes, like strains of music roll, 
Subdue the heart and captivate the soul. 
His li(iuid verses like the mountain stream, 
With humor sparkle and with fervor gleam. 
And while one line with rippling sweetness pours, 
Another, as an angry torrent, roars. 
Mankind and this fair bride his honors claim. 
And I've inscribed him on the roll of fame. 
Then let this myrtle wreath and laurel crest 
Upon tlie lover-poet's temples rest. 

HYMEN, TO ALL. 

Come all ye sprites of water, earth and air : 
In songs congratulate the happy pair. 

ALL. 

We hail thee, fair bride, with devotion, 

As peerless in beauty and grace ; 
The amber and pearls of the ocean 

Before thee we loyally place, 



368 Love and Markiagk. 

We bring thee the ottar of ruses, 

And gems from Golconda's ricli mine. 
But nothing we bring thee discloses 

Such beauty and sweetness as thine. 
Go forth on thy mission of gladness ; 

Bring bliss to th}- husband and home : 
Let love be a balm to his sadness ; — 

And never, no never, he'll roam. 
Regard him as always your lover, 

Indulge every humor and whim : 
And, when you are old, you'll discover, 

He'll love you, and you will love him. 

The Muses from Thessaly's mountain, 

The Graces from Tem})e's sweet vale, 
And nymphs from the forest and fountain, — 

The bridegroom with blandishments hail. 
No knight ever bowed before beauty, 

No troubadour sung of his bride, 
More gallant and true to his duty, 

Than he to the wife at his side. 
Her heart is his throne and his altar, — 

The home and delight of his soul ; 
She'll never allow him to falter. 

But point to the skies as his goal. 
And now on their heads let the Giver 

Of Mercy, all happiness pour ; 
And grace from above, as a river, 

Descend on their hearts cverniore. 



LON'E AND ]Marria(;e. 360 



TO THE fiRIOE, 



•ON THE OCCASION OF THE MARRIA(;E OF MISS MARY M TO 

MR. \V. L. T ." 



We look upon weddings as seasons of joy, 

When all should be merry and gay ; 
And Mary, I trust that no bane will destroy, 

The glorious hopes of to-day. 
But when, a half century hence, you shall meet, 

To sanction and honor your vow, 
I hope you'll be happy — your peace be complete. 

And life be as buoyant as now. 

Dear ]\hiry, you've been as a daughter to me, 

Since childhood's sweet, innocent day ; 
And now, that through life, you may happiness see. 

In faith, I most earnestly pray. 
I never have met, until now, with the groom, 

Yet learn that he's worthy and true ; 
But one must be excellent, ere he presume, 

To claim such a treasure as you. 

-Go, gladden your spouse, with the light of your si nil 

Make home his enchanting retreat ; 
His cares, by your loving caresses, beguile, 
And draw him away from the street. 



370 LdVK and MAIlRrAGK 

In counsel be candid— from truth never swerve ;■ 
Be courteous, complacent and kind ; 

His humor, his taste and his pleasure observe. 
And try, to his faults to be blind. 

Be proud of your husband, — be loynl and true ; 

Support him whenever he's right. 
And when he is wrong, he will listen to you. 

And even obey with delight ; 
Show reverence, devotion, affection, esteem, 

Be cheerful, contented and gay, 
And youth will be cloudless, and bright as a dream^ 

And age be as vernal as May. 

< 
I've often observed in the course of my life, 

That husband is sure to succeed. 
Who asks for the help and advice of his wife 

And gives to her warning good heed. 
The wives who are granted no voice in aflfairs, 

Will soon become drudges and slaves; 
Their ill-tempered husbands be l)urdened with cares^ 

And sink into ignoble graves. 

When you have departed your mother will weep ; 

Her heart will l)e mangled and torn ; 
Your brothers, with her, a sad vigil will keep. 

And deeply your abstnice will mourn. 
But Richard, I'm sure, will make sunshine again,. 

By bringing a lovely young bride 
To sit on your throne, — as a goddess to reign, 

And over the household j)reside. 



Love and Maijhiace. 



371 



Erect ill your dwelling an altar of prayer, 

The day you first enter your home ; 
And if your good husband will meet with you there. 

He'll never he tempted to roam. 
And if to God's house you will steadily go, 

And prayer meeting, weekly, attend. 
You'll grow in God's favor, be useful below, 

And heaven will ])e yours at the enfl. 

In sickness and health, and for better and worse. 

Your husband implicitly trust : 
Though friends may desert him and foes may asperse, 

Believe him pure, honest and just. 
Then go, with the blessing of kindred and friends, 

And peace and prosperity know. 
Till life in a vision of ecstacy ends, 

And Christ shall a mansion bestow. 




^ 



PERSON/lLj 



TO DAN MRPENTER. 



[Written bj' W. ^l. Paxton, and spoken by a young gentleman, 
who, from childhood, had been an attendant upon the Sunday School 
in Barry, Mo., of which Mr. Carpenter was superintendent, on the 
occasion of the presentation of a Bible to him, Christmas Eve, 1881.] 

These parents and children — thy scholars and neighbors, 

The hand of affection to you would extend ; 
They wish you to know they approve of your labors, 

As citizen, officer, teacher and friend. 
These people regard you as father or brother, 

And bring you this present that lies by my side ; 
Your kindness of heart has been shown by no other, 

And no one has proven so faithful a guide. 

Jiefore thee arc standing the friends that are dearest ; 

Around you, the sweet little children you see ; 
That breath that you feel and that whisper thou hearest, 

Are burdened with prayer and affection for thee; 
We pray as one man, that thy life may be lengthened, 

And God may the treasures of wisdom accord, — 
That you may be useful, —your faith may be strengthened. 

And Paradise be, in the end, your reward. 



Personal. 373 

For twenty-five years as a shepherd you've led us, 

Beside the still waters of God's holy word ; 
On manna that came from above you have fed us, 

And gladly your warning and counsel we've heard. 
You've worked for the children through two generations, 

And gathered by scores the dear lartibs to the fold ; 
By highways and hedges, — through toils and temptations, 

You've sought them with patience and yearning untold. 

The boys whom you led in the pathway of duty. 

Now bring you in triumph, their infants to bless ; 
The maidens you taught, — now, in womanly beauty. 

Bring proudly their children for you to caress. 
The youths you have trained, are now farmers and preachers. 

And claim that they owe their promotion to you ; 
The girls of your school, are now mothers and teachers, 

With homes that are happy and hearts that are true. 

The friends who have gathered this evening to greet you. 

In childhood and youth, to thy Sunday School came; 
And most of them still on the Sabbath-day meet you, 

Thy priceless regard and instruction to claim. 
And now they have come to express their devotion ; 

Thy name they would honor and gratefully bless! 
And smiling in love, through the tears of emotion. 

Thy hand they would clasp and in tenderness press.. 

Thy faithful devotion, — thy prayers and thy labors 

Demand of us, now, a substantial reward ; 
And therefore we come as thy scholars and neighbors., 

To give thee this tribute of grateful regard. 



374 Personal. 

It is the great Bible, — thy book of devotion, — 

The volume you love and have studied so well ; 

We know you have chosen this book as your portion, 
And never have ceased in its doctrines to dwell. 

This book is a present you always will treasure, — 

Will walk by its light in the pathway above ; 
And read from its pages with fullness of pleasure. 

Because it is doubly the offering of love. 
We trust you will find that your duties are lighter. 

In thinking how greatly your labors are blest. 
And life's holy evening, we hope, will be brighter, 

When you shall lie down like a child to its rest. 

I hand you this Bible, 'tis love's sacred token — 

A pledge of affection from all that are here : 
A compact, we make, that shall never be broken, — 

That we will be faithful and you shall be dear. 
Now lay down the Bible, — and right hands united. 

Shall prove that this compact, forever shall stand ; 
To you in the future our friendship is plighted, 

'Till all shall behold the delectable land. 



Personal. 375 



JIM ADKINS, 



Jim Adkins contends that we must be friends, 

Till one or the other shall die ; 
And says that I owe him a nice little poem, 

To cherish my memory by. 
Though Jim may be gruff, he's made of good stuflf, 

And yields when convinced he is wrong; 
I know he's sincere and ask you to hear 

A story I've wove into song. 

In boyhood, I know, that Jim was my foe, 

And never was genial and kind; 
But when I had stripped him and cleverly whipped him, 

He seemed to be better inclined. 
And now I've no friend on whom I depend. 

So fully, and perfectly trust. 
My story will show, he's now not my foe, 

And prove him high-minded and just. 

When blood thirsty war with crimson-stained car, 

Left nothing but wrecks in its way — 
When business was dead and multitudes fled, 

My friend like the rest could not stay. 
He owed quite a debt, and left with regret. 

But said every cent should be paid ; 
His note I possessed, but knew he was pressed, 

And of it no mention was made. 



376 Personal. 

He went to the mill and asked me to till, 

The ordei's his wife might send there; 
And then, whip in hand, his team to command, 

He started he hardly knew where. 
He went to the west — his adventure was blessed, 

And cash in his pocket was twirled ; 
He paid all Imt me, and thought he was free, 

And owed not a cent in tlie world. 

He wrote me one day and asked me to pay. 

A sum that was due for his rent ; 
His letter declared, " I rejoice I am spared 

To say that I owe not a cent." 
My answer expressed I was glad he was blessed^ 

And added : " Perhaps you forget. 

That I have your note ; " and also I wrote, 

" You OAve at the mill a small debt." 

I never had claimed the debts that I named, 

And they had escaped from his mind. 
His soul was atire with turbulent ire, 

That could not be quenched or confined. 
He wrote in reply, " The note I deny! 

And, as to that matter, you lied ! 
And if I shall see a note signed l)y me, 

I'll have you for forgery tried. 

" And as to the bill, you charge at the mill, 
'Tis false and is wholly denied! 
For you did not heed, my wife in her need. 
And others her flour supplied." 



Personal. 377 

I laughed at the storm and determined to warm 

My petulant friend in tlie West, — 
And whip him so sweetly, and comb him so neatly, 

His folly would soon be confessed. 

I copied the note — the particulars wrote, 

And called all the facts to his niind ; 
His wife wrote him, too, that my charges were true, 

And I was attentive and kind. 
I wrote not a word that showed! was stirred, — 

Said nothing provoking or hard — 
And never pretended that I was offended, — 

rUit showed him the higliest regard. 

Three months had passed by without a reply. 

When Jim, on the sidewalk appeared ; 
He clasped my right hand, and begged me to stand, 

And let his confession be heard. 
" No mortal," he, cried, " was ever so tried. 

As I, by the letter you wrote : 
Your statement was true and for pardon I sue. 

For basely forgetting my note. 

I acted so blindly and you wrote so kindly, 

That now I'm extremely ashamed ; 
But had you accused me, and harshly abused me, 

-Myself, I would never have blamed. 
I thought you would rave, and that I could brave, 

But kindness has whipped me completely; 
My Avrath was first vented, and then I repented, 

And saw you had punished me neatly. 



S78 Personal. 

" The debt is not cared for, as that Fm prepared for ; 

But oh, how it hurts me to find. 
That all of my rearing — my threats and my tearing. 

Have had no effect on your mind. 
Your kindness cut deeper, and made me feel cheaper. 

Than if you'd been rough and profane. 
I know from this hour that kindness has power, 

That rudeness can never attain. 

" And now," he declared, "as long as I'm spared, 

I'll never be rude to you, — never ; 
And if I shall deign to insult you again, 

Forever discard me, — forever." 
He paid what was due, with interest, too, 

And gratefully offered me more. 
Some weeks after that he sent me a hat, 

Which long in his honor I wore. 

The pledge that was spoken has never been broken ; 

But this little poem may tease him ; 
But truth from a friend should never offend. 

When written to cheer or to please him. 
I've written that way, and Jim cannot say. 

There's anything false in my strain ; 
And if he shall venture my poem to censure, 

I'll whip him with kindness again. 



Personal. 379 



m MEMORIAM, 



TO ELDER W. L. JERMANE, OF PLATTE CITY, MO., ON LEARNING OF 
THE DEATH OF HIS AGED FATHER, REV. G. W. JRRMANE, OF 
PHILADELPHIA, PENN. 



Tell me why, afflicted brother, 

Does the sympathetic tear, 
Shed by one, relieve another, 

Or his fainting spirit cheer? 
Why do God's afflictions, often, 

Bring us, meekly, 'neath His rod : — 
Or, why stony hearts will soften. 

From the chastisements of God? 

Let the threatening tempest lower. 

Clouds impend, and lightnings glare 
They will bring the genial shower. 

And the pure and healthful air. 
Clouds have sometimes silver lining, 

Or reflect the sky-arched bow, 
Proving, still the sun is shining. 

And, erewhile, his face will show. 



380 Pergonal. 

Brother, you, to-day, in sorrow, 

Wee]) a noble father, dead ; 
But this comfort you may borrow, 

That from sin and pain he's tied. 
Sixty-one long years of preaching. 

Is his record, briefly told. 
And to prove his faithful teaching, 

Tliousands found his Savior's fold. 

In atfliction, faith and reason 

Bid the chastened soul, be still ; 
Yet we murmur for a season. 

Since the feelings rule the will. 
Often, sorest is our weeping, 

When the good and holy die, — 
Though we know the saint is reaping. 

Precious sheaves of joy on high. 

Though thy father's life was earnest. 

And was thronged with lofty deeds, 
Yet for him, so blest, thou yearnest, 

And thy heart in sorrow bleeds. 
But to Christ, you know, he's nearer. 

Than the angels can attain, — 
And his voice, in song, is clearer, 

Than the grandest seraph's strain. 

When your father's friends shall meet him. 
Who can tell his holy joy ? 

And when dear disciples greet him, 
'Twill be bliss without allov. 



Personal. 381 

But he'll find a holier pleasure, 

When he meets his ransomed son, — 

And a rapture past all measure. 

When the Lord proclaims, "Well done!" 

Brother, let thy life be fervent, 

Strive to fill thy father's place, — 
Be, like him, a faithful servant. 

And in heaven you'll see his face ; 
And redeemed and reunited. 

You shall both have God's reward, 
In that world forever lighted 

By the glories of your Lord. 



TO MRg, I W, 



UPON THE DEATH OF HKR INFANT DAUGHTER, KITTIE. 



0, who can weigh a mother's grief. 

When death removes a darling child ! 

What words can bring her soul relief, 

When heart is cru.shed and spirit wild I 



382 Personal. 

But may I not in kindness speak, 
And tender sympathy express ? 

And tell thee that it is the meek 

That God has promised He will bless! 

Celestial cherubs may be fair, 

And graceful fairies gay and wise ; 
But filial love they do not shai^, 

And never charm with laughing eyes. 
But children warm us by their mirth, 

And by afifection's radiant smiles ; 
And lovely babes are sent to earth 

To wdn our hearts by cheery wiles. 

I knew you well in childhood's days, 

And often heard your prattling tongue. 
And lovely Kitty was as gay 

And fair as you, when fresh and young ; 
And like her mother, she possessed 

A thousand sweet and winning ways ; — 
Was formed to be by friends caressed, 

And draw the stranger's wondering gaze. 

A light immortal filled her eye. 

And shimmered on her sunny face ; 
Her vision reached beyond the sky. 

And there she chose her dwelling place. 
The pretty songs she learned when here. 

She's now repeating near the throne, 
And Jesus turns a listening ear, 

And claims the darling for his own. 



Personal. 383 

When aged Christians met the child, 

And heard its voice and saw its eye, 
They gently whispered, as they smiled, 

" Too good for earth — 'twill surely die 1 " 
And so the star that twinkled here 

Now blazes on the Savior's brow. 
Then wipe away that briny tear 

And in submission kindly bow. 

The Savior is the children's friend, 

And Jesus little ones will save ; 
So guardian angels kindly tend 

The babes, from cradle to the grave. 
They watch and help them from their birth, 

And choose the loveliest for the skies; 
And hence, a child too good for earth, 

Before it sins, serenely dies. 

Such, mother, was your lovely child ; 

Remember, angels nursed it, too ; 
Then why complain in anguish wild. 

Or ask that death its work undo ? 
The child is safe, as David said, 

And can't return to you again ; 
But you shall find it, — 'tis not dead, — 

And with it shall forever reign. 

Then dry your tears, for heaven prepare, 

And garner all your hopes above ; 
You'll surely find your infant there 

Enjoying God's unchanging love. 



384 Personal. 

And then you'll wonder why you wept, 
When that pure, lovely infant died ; 

And learn the child had only slept, 
Though you upon its coffin sighed. 




MISCELLUNEOUS, 

REMEMBER THE POOR. 



A happy crowd has come to see 
The beauties of our Christmas tree ; 
For this is called the children's day, 
And every face is bright and gay. 
Do you suppose that far or near, 
There's twenty boys who are not here ? 
Or Where's the girl that don't believe 
That she'll, to-night, a gift receive ! 
The heart of every girl and boy 
Is filled with rapture, hope and joy. 

But ah, there's one that don't appear! 
Sweet little Nellie, is not here ! 
Just down the street— not out of sight, 
That darling maiden weeps to night. 
She saw the boys, and heard their songs ; 
She saw the girls pass by in throngs ; 
She saw the tempting gifts they bore. 
And wept, to think that she was poor. 

I passed the house, and stopped to say 
" Come Nellie, go with us to day.'' 



886 Miscellaneous. 

She spoke no word, Imt heaved a sigh, 
And tear-drops gathered in her eye. 
Her dress was threadbare, faded, torn ; 
No stockings on her feet were worn ; 
Her shoes were dingy, patched and old. 
And she was shivering with the cold. 
I said : " You have no time to waste, — 
So run and change your clothes in haste ; 
And come with all these girls and see 
The bright and lovely Christmas tree." 
She sobbed and meekly dropped her head : 

" I have no other clothes," she said ; 

" My mother's wages all are spent 
In bujdng bread, and paying rent. 
We suffer now, — but long ago, 
When father lived, it was not so. 
Ah, me! he lived the drunkard's life. 
And dying, beggared child and wife. 
My mother's work and anxious care, 
Are greater tban her frame can bear; 
And when my mother, too, is dead, 
An orphan,— I must beg my bread." 

Again, through tears that dimmed my sight, 
I asked if she could read and write. 
She brightened up and sweetly said : 

" My mother taught me, and I've read, 
Full many a book, to her aloud. 
While o'er her needle she was bowed." 

I noticed, now, the child with care, — 
Her well formed head and golden hair, — 



Miscellaneous. ^87 

Her swan-like neck and downy cheek,— 
Her ruby lips and eyes that speak ; 
My heart its yearning pity spoke; 
I drew my gloves, and doffed my cloak ; 
I placed them on her shivering form, 
To keep the suffering maiden warm ; 
I placed my hood upon her head, 
And, in a burst of tears, I fled. 

Alas, the poor but seldom find 
Relief and solace, from mankind. 
We go from home to seek the poor, — 
When want is at our very door I 
The Savior said: " W^hile earth shall stand. 
We'll find the poor in every land.'' 
Where poverty and want prevail, 
Man's charity will never fail. 
But where there's riches, pride and greed. 
There's no relief for them that need. 

He who has suffered most will show. 

Most pity for his brother's woe. 

The rich, their money coldly send. 

But heart and soul do not attend; 

But indigence in person goes, 

And aid, with prayer and love bestows. 
While plenty in our homes is found ; 

While health and happiness abound ; 

Oh, let the poor our bounties share, 

And let us wing our alms with prayer. 



388 Miscellaneous. 



KINO WORDS, 



'Tis right to give to them who live, 

Our kindest words of praise, to cheer them : 
For when they die, 'tis vain to try. 

To use such terms,— for they can't hear them. 
He who in life, sows seeds of strife, — 

Whose words hring gloomy thoughts and hours, 
Should drop no tear upon your bier. 

Nor deck your coffin lid with flowers. 

How oft we find, with men unkind, 

A friend, while living, is upbraided ; 
But when he dies, with moistened eyes. 

His deeds and virtues are paraded. 
Speak well, 'tis said, of him that's dead, — 

And this old adage is commended, — 
But why not seek, your love to speak. 

And cheer his heart, ere life is ended? 

Thus Milton's name was shorn of fame. 

Until, in death, ambition perished ; 
And Shakespeare heard no cheering word, 

While life was brisk, and hope was cherished ; 
But now mankind no poets find, 

So worthy of their commendation ; 
And Milton's name and Shakespeare's fame, 

Are known and Ijlessed by every nation. 



Miscellaneous. 389 

To foe and friend, to day, extend 

The help that you may ask tomorrow ; . 
And, in yaur need, your cry they'll heed, 

And on your grave shed tears of sorrow ; 
And let us hear ten words of cheer, 

To one of scorn and reprehension ; 
For if inclined, I'm sure you'll find, 

Enough, in truth and praise, to mention. 

A carping man his mate will scan, 

And bring to light his faults and failings; 
The putrid sores he'll find by scores. 

And think his fellow frail and ailing. 
But he whose soul is pure and whole. 

Can see his neighbor's worth and merits ; 
And love reveals a balm that heals 

One half the ills that man inherits. 

A heart that's pure, is always sure, 

That earth is filled with truth and beauty ; 
A groveling mind can never find, 

A soul that's true to love and duty : 
We therefore know, that virtues grow, 

Mid cheering words and charming graces ; 
And hearts of stone are surely known, 

By sneering lips and scowling faces. 

Yon orphan child is rude and wild, 

And punishment subdues her, — never; 

Oo, speak to her in words of cheer, 

And you have gained a heart forever. 



390 Miscellaneous. 

Yon Aral) youth is lost to truth, 

And turns his hand 'gainst every other ; 

Go, kindly speak, and kiss his cheek, 

And you have gained a friend and brother. 

Thy words of clieer let sufferers hear, 

And scatter kindness to the living ; 
You do far more to raise the poor. 

By sympathy, than lavish giving. 
If you are kind, j^ou'll often find. 

Encouragement is what is needed ; 
And words of love are blessed above, 

While thousands spent are scarcely heeded. 

So do not sa}^ you cannot pay, 

The cash for which the poor are sighing ; 
You need no purse, the sick to nurse. 

And gold will not console the dying ; 
Then let the poor, who can't do more, 

Bestow their tears and prayers and labors 
And rich men, too, their part must do, 

By granting cash to suffering neighbors. 



Miscellaneous. 391 



mm I gRow OLD. 



When I grow old I want to be 

Forgiving, kind and cheery ; 
So every child can come to me, 

Caress me and be merry. 
I hope I'll never fret or scold — 

Be rude or melancholy, — 
Nor think when I am gray and old, 

That sprightliness is folly. 

Though feeble limbs and faltering tongue, 

May keep me still and quiet,— 
Yet may my heart be fresh and young. 

And joy and gladness riot. 
And if the body droops and fails, 

Why should the spirit languish : 
For if a loving heart prevails. 

It heals the body's anguish. 

When I am old and deaf and blind. 

Of course I'll be neglected ; 
The world, I know, will be unkind, 

And wrongs must be expected. 
But if I'm petulent and cross. 

To them who kindness render,. 
Then I, alone, must bear the loss. 

If friends are not so tender. 



392 Miscellaneous. 

And if embittered with mankind, 

I coldly turn my shoulder, 
I only make the world inclined. 

To treat me all the colder. 
I want to think, when 1 am old, 

That I am warmly treated ; 
And then, though all the world is cold, 

I'm warm, although I'm cheated. 

My symbol is the fig that bears 

At once, both fruits and flowers, — 
That through the year its foliage wears, 

And fruits with buds embowers. 
As aged palm-trees never cease, 

To bear the fruits that nourish, — 
So let my grace with age increase, 

And every virtue flourish. 

When growing old we often think, 

The woild is vile and erring, — 
And from mankind with loathing shrink- 

Their leprous contact fearing; 
But I shall always wish to be 

Confiding and believing. 
And want to judge with clemency, 

The erring and deceiving. 

Then make me, till I'm hushed by death. 
Forbearing and forgiving ; 

And let me spend my latest breath. 
In blessings on the living ; 



Miscellaneous. 393 

And may the evening of my days 

Be cloudless, calm and glowing ; 
And may my mouth be filled with praise, 

And heart with love o'erHowing. 



THE HEART IS THE GREATEST TREASURE. 



PART L— LOVER AM) LADY. 

Lover: My reputation has no stain, — 

So won't you marry me, my beauty? 

Lady : The same old answer you obtain, — 
To still reject you is my duty. 

Lover: But 1 am young and liandsome, too, 

By women loved and men admired. 

Lady : The same reply I give to you ; — 

That these are not the traits required. 

Lover: But I am rich with means to bu}^ 

For you, all luxuries and pleasures. 

Lady : I yet return the same reply ; — 

I scorn and turn from all vour treasures. 



894 Miscellaneous, 

Lover: Alas, I've nothing more to plead ; 

And yet ni}' heart is thine forever. 
Lady : Then here's my hand — 'tis love I need ; 

And now these liearts no fate shall sever. 

PART IL— PENITENT AND PRIEST. 

Penitent: If, father, I were young agaivi, 

I'd serve the Lord with all my power. 

Priest: My daughter, you may still obtain, 

The promised grace in life's last hour. 

Penitent: But father, I am dull and plain — 

Too vile t(> dwell among the holy. 

Pried: But daughter, Christ could even deign. 
To dwell among the poor and lowly. 

Penitent: But father, I am poor indeed. 

And cannot buy the gospel blessing. 

Priest: But daughter 'tis thy heart we need. 

And not for money we are pressing. 

Penitent: Then here's my all — accept my heart ; 

All worldl}^ hopes are now forsaken. 
Priest: You've chosen Mary's goodly part; 

'Twill never fail and can't be taken. 



It seems that man can't purchase woman's love, 
And cannot buy the bliss of heaven above; 
Nor can imperial power these boons impart ; — 
They have one price — the undivided heart. 



Miscellaneous. 395 



TO THE OLD MEN OF PLATTE BOUNTY, 



READ BEFORE THE OLD -MliN S ASSOCIATION OF PLATTE COUNTY, 
MO., AUGUST 31, 1881. 



Ye patriarchs! Ye aged men. 

Who've passed your threescore years and ten ! 

We come to honor you to-day, 

And scatter flowers upon your way. 

Ye are the sons of noble sires, 

Whose daring deeds the world admires. 

While Freedom's banner proudly waves. 

We'll deck with wreaths, their verdant graves. 

Your fathers, oft, in council met, 

With Washington and La Fayette ; 

And through the war that made us free, 

Unsheathed their swords for liberty; 

And since themselves Ave cannot pay, • 

We']l give their sons our thanks to-day. 

But, fathers, all we have is yours ; 
From you came all our lands and stores ; 
When you were young, this land was wild; — 
No house gave cheer, — no garden smiled. 
This soil the white man had not trod : — 
'Twas left to solitude and God. 



396 Miscellaneous. 

These vales, where now we dwell at ease^ 
Were densely clad in ancient trees : 
Upon this gently sloping lawn, 
The doe has gambolled Avith its fawn ; 
At yonder rill, the timid deer 
Has slaked his thirst, and knew no fear. 
You then were dauntless, young and true ; 
You came, you saw, and conquered, too! 
The forest falls — your dwellings rise. 
And splendid farms salute your eyes. 
The charming homes erected thus, 
You've freely handed down to us. 

The early settlers of this land 
Are now a small and feeble band ; 
For death, with decimating spear, 
Destroys his quota every year. 
And now but one in twenty's left, 
And soon of all we'll be bereft. 
And will the heirs of all their toil 
Erect no shaft vipon this soil, 
To keep their memory bright and pure 
While waters flow and hills endure ? 
Yes, aged friends; and some of j^ou, 
I hope, that noble shaft shall view. 

Fathers ! Life's duties are not done. 
Though threescore years and ten have run. 
We venerate the man of age, 
And go, for wisdom, to the sage. 



Miscellaneous. 397 



As priest and prophet of his race, 
He lifts his crutch for cross or mace ; 
His hoary head a halo seems ; 
His sparkling eye with glory l>eanis : 
The furrows on his brow declare 
His life was spent in thought and care ; 
That far-off look, and gazing eye, 
Show converse with the saints on high ; 
Those moving lips, which no man hears, 
Are understood by angel's ears. 
The dying dolphin brightly shines ; 
The stars come out as day declines ; 
The meteor Hashes ere it dies ; 
The sunset shows the loveliest skies ; 
Decaying matter shines at night. 
And yields a phosphorescent light : 
Just so, in age, the prisoned soul, 
Resists the morbid clay's control ; 
And with a power unknown in health. 
The intellect displays its wealth. 

The aged may in action fail, 

But still their counsel should prevail : 

Thus Rehoboam, we are told. 

Took counsel both of young and old ; 

But warnings from the old and wise 

Seemed folly to his jaundiced eyes ; 

So with the youths the king agreed, 

And gave to aged men no heed, — 

And found, when ruined and disgraced, 

His confidence had been misplaced. 



398 Miscellaneous. 

The aged have their hopes and joys; 
No more their thoughts the earth employs 
They've reached the lofty mountain crest, 
On which the sunbeams always rest, 
And fix their eyes on that bright orb, 
Whose glories all their souls absorb ; 
The earth is hid by clouds, between 
Whose silver side alone is seen ; 
While far below, upon the plain, 
There's varying sunshine, wind and rain. 
'Tis thus the old man litts his eyes, 
And looks upon the glorious skies. 
Where all his hopes are anchored fast, 
And where his home shall be at last. 
He craves not wealth nor gilded toys, 
Nor fleeting hopes, — nor transient joys. 

As birdlings leave their nests and fly, — 

So aged men will gladly die. 

An air balloon, when firmly bound, 

Kemains unmoved upon the ground ; 

But when you loose a tie or stay. 

It strives to rise and bound away ; 

And when, at length, the last cord parts, 

It springs aloft, and heavenward darts; 

So aged men are bound to earth, 

B}^ bonds of friendship, love and birth; 

But death destroys a darling stay, 

And then another's torn awav, 



Miscellaneous. 399 



Till every dear one that they love, 
Is gathered to the fold above ; — 
How gladly, then, the spirit flies 
To home and friends beyond the skies ! 

But ah ! these blessings never How, 
To him whose wealth is all below. 
The man who lives alone for self, — 
Whose only treasure is his pelf, — 
Will writhe in anguish, grief and fear, 
When forced to leave his treasures here. 
As death draws near, the good rejoice; 
But bad men lift a wailing voice. 
The old will happiness secure. 
Precisely as the heart is pure. 



400 Miscellaneous. 



A VALEDimRY. 



SPOKEN BY MISS REDMON AT THE CLOSING OF PROF. CRESOP's 

SCHOOL. 



Associates, teachers, patrons, friends ; 
This day our happy school-term ends. 

No more, my sister, shall we rove, 
On classic hill or attic grove; 
No more, the school-boy's merry voice 
Shall make these fields and woods rejoice ; — 
Nor shall these romping, laughing girls, 
With ferns and daisies deck their curls. 

In babyhood, our weary years 
Are spent in crosses, pains and tears; 
And till our school-day life begins. 
Our woes atone for all our sins. 
But when with children of our age, 
Our books and slates our thoughts engage, — 
When hope and emulation rise. 
To earn and wear the offered prize, — 
When friendship first its scepter claims. 
And love bursts forth in lambent flames ; — 
When sports by day. and dreams bv nighty 
Afford us rapture and delight ; 



Mli^CELLANEOUS. 

'Tin then the goal of bliss we win, 
And life's enchanting years begin. 
Then fancy builds before our eyes, 
A gorgeous castle in the skies, 
And fairy wings transport us there, 
Its dazzling wealth and bliss to. share;— 
The bliss that Cinderella knew— 
The wealth, the fat)led gardens grew. 
These ardent lads and lasses fair, 
Have all built castles in the air, 
To stand until their school days end. 
And then, with sad collapse, descend. 

And now the time has come to part— 
The sad event that wrings my heart ! 
My loved companions, all are here ; 
I see, in many an eye, a tear ; 
'Tis hard to leave these darling girls. 
With rosy cheeks and golden curls. 

A child, who had not known me long 
With voice as sweet as angel's song. 
To-day came to me— raised her head 
And timidly, but sweetly said: 
" 0, do not leave us,— come again. 
And for another year remain ; 
The children all love you, I know, 
Because you love the children so.'' 
My heart was full - I dropt a tear, 
And almost promised to be here. 



401 



402 Miscellaneous. 

And now, this noble band of boys, 
Must end their games, and stop their noise. 
Again they'll serve parental law. 
And hew the wood, and water draw. 
They'll run on errands — milk the kine. 
Drive out the pigs and feed the swine. 

The other day, a fair haired lad 
Inquired, with face and accents sad. 
If, after exhibition day, 
He'd have to go back home to stay ; 
And when I told him it was true, 
He moaned : " what am I to do ! 
I'll have no picture books to learn ; 
They'll make me plough and wash and churn, 
And rock the cradle every day. 
And never let me sing or play." 
And then he bursted into tears, 
And wished the school would last for years. 

But I no longer am a child ; 
The spring of life on me has smiled ; 
The winds of March, and April showers 
Have decked my hair with May's fresh flowers ; 
And Summer life, with June's warm sun. 
To-morrow morn, will be begun. 

And other maidens, too, like me. 
In Summer's fragrant robes shall be ; 
And these three lovely nymphs, or fays, 
Whose constancy deserves our praise. 
Have come to meet, their last time here. 
And drop affection's parting tear. 



M[SCELLANEOUS. 403 

Augusta, darling of my heart, 
How can we from each other part! 
To one so loving, kind and true, 
I cannot, will not, bid adieu. 
For years, with love's ecstatic thrill. 
We've daily met upon this hill : 
Together, in yon shady nook, 
A hundred times, with chart and book, 
We've learned the lessons of the day. 
Before we joined the girls in play. 
We met at recitation, too. 
And still, though rivals, we were true. 
No envy, jealousy or pride, 
Could friendship's golden chain divide. 

But now, our course at school is run ; 
A new existence is begun ; 
And neither you nor I can tell 
The parts of earth, where we shall dwell. 
It may be, ere another year, 
Our souls shall find a brighter sphere. 
And bask upon that happy shore, 
Where tears and partings are no more. 
But while we live below, I pray 
That we may meet from day to day. 

Augusta — No, I cannot tell. 
My best and dearest friend, farewell ; 
But I shall hope our love may grow, 
While years shall roll and seasons flow. 

Rebecca, sister, young and fiiirl 
As fresh and free as mountain air! 



404 Miscellaneous. 

My classmate and my faithful friend, 
Our happ}' school days now must end. 
But at our homes we'll still remain, 
And we shall daily meet again. 
We'll wander oft by shady streams, 
And tell our secrets and our dreams ; 
We'll talk of love, — our plans reveal, 
And speak the hopes and fears we feel. 
The germ of friendship planted here, 
Shall still increase, from 3^ear to year ; 
The friends we found upon this hill, 
In death, will be our dear ones still. 
My love to thee, shall not grow cold, 
When you are gray and I am old ; 
And as I pass the vale of death, 
Thy name will be upon my breath. 
(), tell me not another name, 
Thy throne within my heart shall claim ; 
For if sly Cupid's poisoned dart 
Shall banish friendship from my heart ; — 
Then grovelling Love must stand aside ; — 
For I can never be a bride. 

Yes, Friendship's something more than name ! 
But Love's a sickly, flickering flame ; 
Its hre consumes, but will not warm — 
An Ignis Jatuus, mid the storm. 
But friendship while it gently glows, 
Will warm and win us to repose. 
The friendshi}) borne in early youth. 
Is nursed by faith, and taught by truth ; 



Miscellaneous. 405 

And friends we meet at school, we find. 
In after life are always kind. 

But, sweet Rebecca, we shall grieve, 
These academic walks to leave ; 
But let us disregard the pain. 
And live our early lives again. 
By laughing o'er a hundred times, 
Our pranks and frolics, scrapes and crimes. 

In years to come, the listening youth, 
Will not believe I speak the truth. 
When I shall tell I've seen you ride, 
Without a line or rein to guide, 
Your father's wildest, noblest, steed, 
And press him to his utmost speed, — 
Then spring to earth, yet hold to mane. 
And as he surges, mount again, — 
And guiding only by your whip, 
Display the noblest horsemanship. 
Ah, Dear Rebecca! sweet, though wild, 
Why can't you always be a child? 

Dear Katie, I am glad to learn. 
That you, next season, will return 
And spend at school, another year, 
Acquiring skill and knowledge here. 
Go on ! The mount of science scale ; 
Thy faith and ardor must prevail. 
I've watched thee, Katie, darling child! 
When you have triumphed, I have smiled ; 

— 26 — 



40G Miscellaneous. 

And when success your sails have tilled, 
My heart, with pride, has always thrilled^ 
Though now, dear Katie, we must part, 
I'll bear thine image on my heart. 

Dear Teachers, I with pride can tell. 
That you've performed your duties well. 
No earthly language can reveal, 
The lasting gratitude we feel ; 
And if we mount the hill of fame, 
Our teachers may the honors claim. 
There's none, except ourselves, has known 
The anxious patience you have shown. 
Though toils and cares oppressed the mind, 
Your words were always good and kind. 
We'll never cease to give you praise, 
In age — a.'^ in our youthful days. 

Now, generous patrons, as we part, 
I'll touch a theme that's near my heart : 
The noble school you've planted here, 
Should grow and prosper, year by year. 
Until a college, on this hill. 
Our greatful hearts with pride shall fill ; 
And hundreds of your sons shall rise 
To praise your zeal and enterprise ; 
And here, a thorough course pursue, 
To bless mankind and honor vou. 



Miscellaneous. 407 

And now, my friends, that I am through, 
ril bid you all a kind adieu ; 
And may rich blessings softly fall, 
Like summer dews on one and all. 



LIBERTY'S BIRTHDAY. 



I. 

How blest is the 3^eoman, whose heart often swells 
With pride for the eountry, or state, where he dwells! 
How noble the spirit that fervently glows 
With love for his people, though once the}^ were foes ! 
Such souls will delight, on this Fourth of July, 
To lift up the Hag of their country on high — 
Will honor and cherish Columbia's name ; 
Rejoice in lier glory, or weep for her shame. 

II. 

At daybreak, this morning, ye freemen arise f 
And gaze on your banner, — the star spangled skies ; 
The blue vault of heaven is the field for the stars, 
And beams of the sun are the red and white bars. 



408 Miscellaneous. 

Each morning this flag is displayed to the world, 
And tyrants, in trembling, behold it unfurled ; 
For soon shall the banner of liberty wave 
O'er lands of oppression and homes of the slave. 

III. 

How bright is the dawn of this time-honored day ! 
That music is liberty's sweet matinee; 
The brilliant aurora that arches the east 
Is bonfires made for this national feast ; 
The tocsin that starts you is libert3''s drum, 
Announcing that all to her banquet may come. 
And thirty-eight guns will proclaim that forever 
These States are a nation no power can sever. 

IV. 
Then come, all ye freemen, to liberty's feast — 
From north and from south, from the west and the east! 
Come forth in fraternities, orders and bands, 
With hearts full of love and demonstrative hands ! 
Bring with you your daughters, your sons and your wives — 
No soldier insults you, no autocrat drives ! 
Each yeoman's a sovereign, each wife is a queen, 
To rule this whole land as their lawful demesne. 

V. 

Behold ! in procession the yeomanry come ! 

They march to the music of fife and of drum ! 

The stars and the stripes the long column commands, 

And females walk proudly with flags in their hand*. 



Miscellaneous. 409 

This day is observed that the children may ken 
That love of one's country makes heroes of men. 
Yes, liberty's safe when the young men can cry: 
" 'Tis noble and sweet for one's country to die ! " 

VI. 

The order of freemen embraces us all — 

The law is the same for the great and the small ; 

We stand on a level with all who are here, 

And, therefore, as brethren we'll give them good cheer. 

With speeches and plaudits, with ballad and glee, 

We'll praise the All Wise for this land of the free ; 

And pray Him Columbia's boon to bequeath, 

Till earth is as free as the air that we breathe. 



410 Miscellaneous. 



TO-MORROW. 



' To da}' " is the emblem of life and of time, — 

A sfeason of trouble and sorrow ; 
While blessings, and hopes of a heavenly clime, 

Are seen in the symbol, " To-morrow." 
The clouds that are dark on the surface below, 

Beyond, have the sunlight of heaven ; 
And darker the cloud, the more brilliant the bow, 

That (rod for man's comfort has given. 

Despondency causes one-half of the ills, 

That fall on the weak and faint hearted; 
But hope gives them joy, and a cordial distils. 

By which a new life is imparted. 
'Tis best, while you can, to be cheerful or gay, 

And never anxiety borrow; 
But when you are faint fromthe cares of to-day, 

Find balm in the hopes of to-morrow. 

As water from Tantalus' lips was withdrawn — 

Relief to his torment denying — • 
They say that to-morrow thus briskly moves on — 

The grasp of pursuers defying. 
It daily advances one station ahead, 

We follow, and find it retreating; 
We camp where its tent was but yesterday spread, 

But never accomplish a meeting. 



Miscellaneous. 411 

To-morrow I to-morrow I What word is so sweet ? 

'Tis music enclianting and tender ; 
A word that the poet delights to repeat, 

Whose meaning the sage cannot render. 
I like it, because it affords a relief 

To suffering children of sorrow ; 
For hope puts a check to affliction and grief 

By ])romising help for to-morrow. 

To-morrow ! to-morrow— forever a jo} 

A maiden who wants you to woo her ! 
Yet, when you approach her, is Avinsomely coy. 

And shuns you to make you pursue her. 
The world would be weary if robbed of the rest 

Which faith from the future can borrow. 
And life would be cheerless if man were not blessed 

By hopes of the bliss of to-morrow. 



412 Miscellaneous. 



DEDIgiTION, 



FOR MISS A. D. S ALBUM. 



Thine album is a casket, white and fair, 

Untarnished by a blot, my daughter; 
So, let the sentiments admitted there 

Be friendship's gems of purest water. 
I trust this book, so brilliant in your youth, 

Will in the course of years grow brighter ; 
For words of wisdom, tende"rness and truth. 

Will make the pearly pages whiter. 



m kmmum. 



WRITTEN FOR MISS C. 



You ask me to write in your album my name — 
Now try to pronounce it, my sweet little dame. 

My first in the garden will ripen in May ; 

My second's an article used every day ; 

My third is as cross as you were when a child ; 

My fourth is a drink that is pleasant and mild ; 

My fifth is as round as a cup or a can ; 

My sixth is not death, but the last end of man. 

Now, sweet little miss, I have written my name ; 
So give me a kiss, that is all I will claim. 



Miscellaneous. 413 



flow ADAM DIVIDED PROPERTY WITH EVE. 



When man rebelled and was expelled 

From Eden's vales and groves elysian, 
He said to Eve, " You now must leave ; 

But you shall have a fair division. 
So, as your half, I'll give the calf. 

And keep the cow, whose milk I'm needing ; 
The colt is thine,— the mare is mine ; — 

The calf and colt are broke to leading. 

"The lamb's for thee,— the ewe's for me — 

The wool is what I've set my heart on ; 
I'll take the hog, and you the dog, - 

And these are all we've got to start on. 
With sweat of brow you'll have to plow. 

And earn the bread that's so much needed ; 
Now do not stay, but haste away, 

For tears are vain and wont be heeded." 

The calf was brought, — the colt was caught. 

And in Eve's arms the lamb was taken ; 
With failing heart she made the start. 

And seemed by God and man forsaken. 
She stopped to tell her last farewell. 

In voice subdued and full of feeling, — 
When Tray, the dog, attacked the hog.— 

Who rushed to Eve, in terror squealing. 



414 Miscellaneous. 

The cow and mare and ewe were there, 

And heard while feeding at their manger; 
Of course the}'^ Hew as mothers do, 

To save their offspring when in danger. 
To Eve they clung, who held their young, 

And as she went they followed after. 
Her tears were gone, — she hurried on, 

And nearh' split her sides with laughter. 

Without a word she led the herd, 

And kept it at her home securely ; 
But Adam stood in angry mood, 

And scowled and knit his brows demurely. 
Though whipped, he tried with manly pride, 

To get and cook his daily victuals ; — 
Made soup of cheese, — made pies of peas, 

And burnt his hands on pots and kettles. 

But life like this, was not the bliss, 

That Adam, at the first expected : 
So off he went to Eve's nice tent. 

And reconcilement was effected. 
And to this day the wife has sway, 

And husbands know 'tis best to let her; 
I've known no strife, — 'twixt man and wife. 

But what the woman got the better. 



Miscellaneous. 41§ 



SHARMINS MARY, 



HOW SHE ACQUIRED HER ACCOMJ'LISHMEN'TS. 



I've often wondered why my Mary seems 

Supremely blessed, above all others; 
Her heart is love — her eye with Avisdom beams: — 

And beauty's smiles adorn her features; 
Seraphic grace and virtue are combined 

With human feelings and emotions; 
The angels say she's best of womankind, 

And men, Avith rapture, pay devotions. 

I asked the great archangel why he let 

The gifts bestowed on maidens vary — 
For of the lovely girls, through life, I've met. 

There's none that equals Charming Mary. 
He made reply that at my darling's birth 

He ordered Wisdom, Love and Beauty — 
Three guardian spirits — to descend to earth, 

And each select a child for duty. 

' But Ave," he said, " could send but one each day, 
As two in heaven were always needed, 
So Wisdom plumed her wings and flcAV away, 
And Beauty's trip to Love's succeeded. 



416 Miscellaneous. 

Each morn a sprite on buoyant pinions flew 
To teach the child of her selection, 

And came at night to tell the other two 
Her lovely ward was all perfection. 

" Majestic Wisdom taught her matchless child 

In science, art and revelation. 
And showed how nature's laws were reconciled 

With God's good plan of man's salvation. 
And Love came down to earth with smile and kiss, 

And taught her ward, with heart and feeling. 
That kindness is the source of purest bliss, 

And pleasures flow from generous dealing. 

"And charming Beauty came, with smiling face, 

To deck her charge with fragrant flowers, 
And teach refinement, elegance and grace, 

And give the voice magnetic powers. 
Each guardian sprite returned to let me know 

How lovely grew the child selected. 
And offered, after sixteen years, to show 

That child was best whom she protected. 

" When sixteen years were past," the archangel said, 
" I was as arbiter selected. 
And to the earth was by the spirits led, 

That all the wards might be inspected. 
Each spirit felt assured she'd gain the prize. 

And gaily to the earth descended ; 
And as on eagle wings we coursed the skies, 
A cherub troop our wa)'^ attended. 



Miscellaneous. 417 

" We reached the earth, and Wisdom brought 

A lovely maiden, pure and peerless, 
In all accomplishments and graces taught — 

'Twas Charming Mary, proud and fearless. 
But L>! I heard a lamentation wild, 

And saw the spirits in commotion : 
It seemed both Love and Beauty claimed the child 

As her they'd trained with such devotion. 

"And thus you learn why Mary is possessed 

Of rarer graces than all others : 
For sixteen years she had been trebly blest 

And fostered by three angel mothers."' 
And here for flight the archangel's wings were spread, 

And I had learned why maidens vary : 
For few by guardian angels have been led, 

But three attended Charming Mary. 



[This may be made a burlesque by adding the following stanza, at 
the closing lines of which a boy may arise, clothed with hideous mask 
and fantastic gown, to personate Charming Mary.] 



And now my Mary sits before my eyes. 

And I am anxious all shall know her, 
So I will call upon her here to rise, 

And to this whole assembly show her. 
You'll see her as an angel, fresh and fair. 

And lovely as a nymph or fairy : 
So look upon the lovely form, just there. 

And you will see my Charming Mary I 



418 Miscellaneous. 



TO A RED-HEAD, 



The luss I love has bonny auburn hair; 
Her amber curls like golden sunbeams glare, 
Or like the cloven tongues of lambent flame 
That wreathe the temples of some child of Fame. 
Above her head a crown of golden light, 
Like Judah's altar, shimmers day and night, 
And, like the vestal lamp of ancient Rome, 
AVill blaze forever in some happy home ; 
Or, like the lofty cliff, as Goldsmith told. 
That lifts above the clouds its crown of gold. 
Though storms and tempests round her bosom spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on her head. 



Miscellaneous. 419 



Sod's Wisdon], Power and Love. 



Thou God of ■wisdom, love and might, 

Grant blessings that we need ; 
Thy wisdom knows the good and right, 

Thy love our cause will plead ; 
And let Thy mighty hand bestow 

The favors wisdom names, 
And let Thy precious bounties flow 

While love Thy mercy claims. 

Thy wondrous wisdom in the skies, 

The telescope reveals, 
And skill unknown to nature's eyes. 

The microscope unseals. 
We magnify Thy mighty power, 

By which the spheres are hurled, 
And praise Thee for the sheen and shower 

That fructify the world. 

The Father's boundless love is shown 

By that amazing plan — 
To have the Son, in flesh, atone 

For all the sins of man. 
He gave His precious Son to die, 

That all Avho should believe 
From wrath and agony might tiy, 

And endless life receive. 



PLKTTE CITY CEMETERY. 



Rambles in Platte Kity Cemetery, 



Behold a sacred burying-ground! 

Beware, on holy soil we tread ! 
For here a thousand graves are found, — 

A hallowed city of the dead. 

These whited shafts, as specters stand, — 
As cold and grim as ghost or gnome ! 

Why can't the tomb be better planned. 
And made a bower or cheerful home ? 

The tomb, the pyramid and mound. 
Are all sad emblems of decay ; 

Where crumbling monuments are found, 
A worthless race has passed away. 

A name inscribed on history's page, — 

When marble crumbles, still endures ; 

Then be a hero, saint or sage. 

And endless honors shall be yours. 



Platte City Ceimktehv. 421 

Plant evergreens above my grave, 

And let the rose and violet bloom ; — 

Let native grass above me wave, 

And vine and myrtle. form my toml). 

I want the children, when I'm dead, 

To gather roses where I lie — 
And garlands on m}^ breast to spread, 

With cheerful heart and tearless eye. 

But now we'll read the names and telL 

The virtues of the buried dead ; 
In life I knew and loved them well. 

And all shall be in kindness said. 



No. I. 
HON. JAMES ADKINP. 



IJ'tPil Ft'Iiriiary <', l-'^'S'i^ Aijeil -''-^ Years. 



In civil commotion and strife. 

He clung to the State and hei' laws 

In peace he devoted his life, 

To every benevolent cause. 



^ 



422 Platte City Cemetery. 

When party his services claimed, 

Ajid raised him to honor and place, 

With zeal and devotion he aimed, 
The pathwa_y of duty to trace. 

A bold and magnanimous knight, — 

He knew neither fear nor reproach ; 
On innocence, virtue and right, 

He suflered no man to encroach ; 
impetuous, firm and severe, — 

Discouragements quickened his zeal; 
And prudent Avhen dangers were near, — 

His nerves were as rigid as steel. 

His voice in the senate was heard, 

Denouncing corruption and waste : 
And wise legislators concurred, 

In suiting their laws to his taste. 
Though holding high places of trust, 

His honor was never denied ; 
His liie was the path of the just. 

And thousands shed tears when he died. 



Platte City Cemetery. 423 

No. 3 
TWO INFANTS OF E. P. AND IDA BAKER. 



Two lovely babes lie side by side ! 
In prattling infancy they died 1 
A sad and childless mother stands, 
With weeping eyes and folded hands. 

Upon their graves fresh flowers appear. 

And every petal hides a tear. 

An arbor -vitse tree is seen, 

To keep their memory ever green. 

Dear Ida, let thy weeping cease ; 
The cherubs now have endless peace; 
For in the Savior's loving arms, 
No ill molests, no fear alarms. 

A mother twice and twice bereaved ; 
And doubly blessed as doubly grieved 
For when in heaven you find the pair, 
Yonr bliss will be redoubled there. 

To lose a child is hard, I know ; 
But when a mother dies, there's woe : 
For other children may be born ; 
But orphans always are forlorn. 



424 Platte City Cemetery. 

No. 3. 
SARAH, WIFE OF GEO. W. BELT. 



Died April .27, 1S71, Aged S'l Years. 



I knew her when a sprightly lass, 
And met her almost daily; 

Before my door she used to pass, 

With school-mates romping gaily. 

She was a twin, — and twins are fair, 
And claim our admiration ; 

So on us all, the lovely pair 
Possessed a fascination. 

At church and Sunday school we met. 

And loved the self-same altar; 
And to her death she never let 

Her faith in Jesus falter. 

She died Avhen in the prime of j^outh, — 
But daughters left behind her, 

Have signalized her zeal and truth. 

And in their hearts have shrined her. 



Platte City Cemetery. 425 

No. 4. 
MRS. ELIZABETH BURNERS- 



Died January :'", IS'So^ aged -^<S' years. 



Beneath the green turf of this grave thou art sleeping, 

Until the dear Saviour shall bid thee arise ; 
Thy son and tliy daughters, a mother, are weeping, 

And often thy husband wipes tears from his eyes. 
'Twas just in the noontide of life thou wert taken, — 

When skies were the brightest and fields were abloom; 
And now, like the grove, when by song-birds forsaken. 

Thy home is in silence and friends are in gloom. 

How well I remember thy warm salutation, — 

Thy pleasing address and encouraging smile! 
Kind nature had formed thee to fill any station, 

That called for intelligence, fancy or style. 
How often I've met thee, in charity's labors, 

And witnessed thy energy, judgment and skill ; — 
Admired 1)}^ strangers, beloved by thy neighbors. 

The world gave thee praise for thy hearty good-will. 

You've left us two daughters bereft of a mother, — 
Two rosebuds to open in beauty and grace ; 

But they have their warders, in father and brother. 
And always will find in our hearts a warm place. 



426 Platte City Cemetery. 

So sweet be thy slumber, and soft be thy pillow^ 
Since God, to the motherless, ever is kind ; 

And all of thy race, 'neath the shade of this willow 
Shall close to thy bosom a resting place find. 



No. 5. 
HENRY T. CALLAHAN. 



Died Januarj/ ^<v, Jt'^"/"//, Aged SS Years. 



I knew him when a sprightly child, 

And met him daily in his youth; 
He proved impulsive, bold and wild, 

But strict in friendship, love and truth. 
A bitter foe and genial friend, — 

He gave no insult, brooked no slight, — 
Would readily his wrongs amend, 

And sought to know and do the right. 

His heart and hand espoused the side 

Of justice, innocence and truth, 
And never championship denied. 

To virtue, purity or youth. 
This handsome tomb and well kept ground. 

Show taste and tenderness allied. 
And that true hearts in union bound. 

Were rudely severed when he died. 



Platte City Cemetery. 427 

No. 0. 
J. V. COCKRILL. 



DM September to, isr,i;^ Af/ed ;.' I>a»\s. 



I knew him when in nianhood"s pride, — . 

And always found him just and brave ; 
I stood beside him as he died, 

And helped to lay him in his grave. 

He was a man of sterling sense, 

And managed well his house and farm ;- 
Was slow to give or take offense, 

And to his friends was kind and warm. 

His idols were his worthy sons,— 

His lovely girls and charming wife; 

To train and bless these darling ones, 
Became the duty of his life. 

His wealtli, laid up by thrift and toil. 

Upon his frugal children fell : 
It was not large enough to spoil, 

And yet enough to start them well. 

Though scattered far, here is their home : 
And with their tears this sod they lave ; 

A magnet guides them as they roam, 

And draws them to their father's grave. 



428 Platte City Cemetery 

No. 7. 
DR. G. W. FIELD. 

Died April !''>, 1SS3, Aged <><; Yeam. 

This spacious monument conceals, 

The hallowed dust of one well known ; 
And every man who knew him feels, 

His name deserves a costly stone. 
His modest and retiring worth. 

Allowed no boasting nor conceit ; 
With mind well trained to thought from birth, 

His words and actions proved discreet. 

Few men have exercised more thought. 

Or used so well their reasoning powers ; 
His plans were laid and measures wrought, 

By mental toil in weary hours. 
His intellect with culture's grace. 

Gave form and force to what he said ; 
Complaisance sat upon his face. 

And dignity adorned his head. 

His widow's weeds the winds shall wave, 

Above this green and tear-wot sod ; 
His sons shall kneel beside his grave, 

And daughters lift their prayers to God. 
This sward shall shroud their mortal frames, 

Entombed around their fathcu-'s dust, 
Until the trump of God proclaims. 

The resurrection of the just. 



Platte City Cemetery 420 

No. s. 
MARY L., WIFE OF J. F. FLAN N FRY. 



Died Novrmber 2Jf, 1877, Aged .'8 Years. 



The loveliest iiowers are called to grace 

The halls where royal feasts are spread; 

And so the purest of our race 

Adorn the- banquet of the dead. 

No vestal had a purer heart, — 

No seraph had a sweeter voice. 

Her sympathy could joy impart, 

And make despairing'souls rejoice. 

Her babes were yet too young to know 

Their yearning 'uother's anxious face ; 

But tender friends their love bestow, 

And take them to their fond embrace. 

This leafless rose seems lifeless now, 

But soon in summer's sheen shall bloom ; 

So she, with chaplets on her brow, . 

Shall rise triumphant from the tomb. 

These shells from India's sunny strand, 

With ocean's moaning voice complain ; 

And round her grave the murmuring band, 
In chorus chant their sad refrain. 



430 Platte City Cemetkry. 

No. 9. 
ISTE, SECOND WIFE OF J. F. FLANNERY. 



Dii'd August -i, 1S87, Aged -i'l Years. 



The earth is fresh upon thy grave ; 
No evergreens above it wave, 
For only yesterday we gave 

Thy body to the sod. 
A few years since a lovely bride, 
You came in health and youthful pride, 
And chose the Savior for your guide, 

And in His footsteps trod. 

The church became your chief delight, — 
Your faith was strong, your walk was right, 
And your example shed a light. 

That far and near was seen. 
You left no child your death to weep ; 
But dear step-children's sighs are deep. 
And friends and husband long shall keep, 

Thy memor}^, pure and green. 



Platte City Cicmetkry. 

No. 1". 
GEORGIA, WIFP: OF WM. FLESHMAN. 



431 



Died November 16, 1879, AcfPtl ■'<> Years.. 



A mother true :ind pure at^ dew, 

And as an infant tender, — 
With blushing cheek and manners meek,- 

Our hearts could but surrender. 

Ah, here you say, ^vas snatched away, 

A mother sorely needed ; 
Her children's cries you think will rise 

To God and be unheeded. 

But winds are mild that fan the child. 

Bereft of loving mother ; 
And orphans find the world as kind. 

As 'tis to any other. 

And Georgia dear, thy children here. 

Are 'mong the favored number ; 
So let no care thy bosom share. 

Nor doubt disturb thv slumlier. 



432 Platte City Cemetery. 

No. 11. 
HENRY J. FREELAxXD. 



Killed January J, ISOG^ Aged 44 1 m/'.->. 



He came a blunt and awkward lad, 
Without a friend to aid him ; 

And though in rustic homespun clad, 

Intelligence and courage swayed him. 

With nerve that knew no word like fail ; 

With motto: Onward — Ready; 
His plans, of course, must all prevail ; 

His rise, be sure and steady. 

But ere his hopes were gratified. 
Or half his days were ended, — 

By rude and bloody hands he died. 
And loving hearts were rended. 

His children gone, — his hearth-stone cold,- 
No home for sweet communion ! 

Yet here the family shall hold, 
In death a grim reunion. 



Platte City Cemetery. 433 

No. 12. 
DR. ADDISON T. GUTHRIE. 



Died Jnhj ;?.?, 1SS3, Aged '>"! I'rars 



Beneath this splendid monument, 

A good and loved ph3'sician lies; 
The fragrance of his life well spent, 

As grateful incense seeks the skies. 
The people round, on him relied. 

For medical advice and skill ; 
And to the poor he ne'er denied, 

The balm and care they asked when ill. 

His generous deeds and Christian zeal, 

A wide-spread confidence inspired ; 
And on all points of public weal. 

His will and word had force acquired ; 
But Heaven removed earth's strongest ties'; 

With loved ones gone — this life seemed vain 
His heart and hope were in the skies, 

And there he joined them all again. 



434 Platte City Cejieterv 

No. i.7. 
WILLIE GUTHRIE. 



Died September IS, 1S7I, Aged .'1 Years. 



The programme of his life was made, — 

The star of hope was brightly shining, — 
But ere his plans were fully laid, 

The toils of death were round him twining. 
He scarcely lived to man's estate. 

Before the golden bowl was broken, — 
And had not long on earth to wait, 

Until the Savior's "come," was spoken. 

Yes, Willie was a noble boy, — 

Intelligent and open-hearted ; 
His ways awakened hope and joy. 

His words full confidence imparted. 
I always found him true and just, 

And from the sins of youth exempted ; 
He was not false to any trust, 

Nor was he from liis duty tempted. 



Platte City Cemetery. 4o5 

No. U. 
THOMAS E. JENKINS. 



Bled April ^-i, ISS.l, Aged -'-S year>t. 



This grave is fresh and new. 

And near it are four others. 
The parents lie in two, 

And two contain his brothers. 
The family are here, 

Save one survivor, only, 
Who conies to shed a tear. 

Upon these graves when lonely. 

The parents came from Wales, 

When young and newly married 
And charmed with western vales, 

For life among us tarried. 
By toil their bread was won, 

Till wealth its rod extended. 
And lives in love begun. 

In hap})iness were ended. 

In Thomas .Jenkins dwelt 
A spirit free and artless ; 

His power to please was felt 

By both the good and heartless ; 



4of) Flatte City Cemetery. 

His S3anpathetic breast, 

In kindness throbbed for others ; 
The suffering and oppressed, 

Were looked upon as brothers. 

His death a void will make, 

And loving hearts are broken ; 
But hearts bereavements break, 

Are healed by kindness spoken ;. 
So let us show our love, — 

Our S3^mpathy and sorrow, — 
Until we meet above, 

Upon the great to-morrow. 



No. I--,. 
JAMES H. JOHNSTON, 



Died May '■'', Z^'-'-^, Aged 4^ Yean 



"Tis nearly tifty years since first we met. 

And thirty years have passed since here we laid him 
But I must not my early friend forget, 

Nor pass his grave without some honor paid him. 



Platte City Cemetery. 437 

For friends are now, not as in olden time, — 

But, like the oak and vine, may be contraste.l ; 

For vines, in summer, round the oak Avill climb, 
But b)^ the winter's earliest frost are blasted. 

He was a merchant trained from early youth; 

Good name and wealth were honestly acquired ; 
He rose by promptness, energy and truth, 

And when he gained a competence, retired. 
But prowling Death stalked in at radiant noon, 

And rudely foiled his plans of ease and splendor; 
As biting frosts have sometimes come in June, 

To nip the buds and flowers when sweet and tender. 

His children now are gone, and come no more 

To look upon the scenes of childhood's pleasures ; 
Nor do they kneel beside this grave, to pour 

Upon their father's breast their heart's rich treasures. 
This stone — this cold and lifeless marble — stands 

The only tribute to a man once noted ; 
But if no flowers are brought by filial hands, 

These lines shall to his memory be devoted. 



438 Platte City Cemetery. 

No. l<:. 
STEPHEN JOHNSTON. 

Died April '25, I860, Ayed -',11 Years. 



These solid walls of costly stone, 

Around his burial lot erected, 
Will keep his name for ages known, 

And by posterity respected. 
There cannot be a higher aim. 

Or end that's better worth securing, — 
Than first to earn an honored name, 
> And then to make that name enduring. 

A man of cultivated mind, — 

Of dignified yet gentle bearing; 
Sagacious, thoughtful and refined, — 

His plans Avere laid with skill and daring. 
In mercantile pursuits, it seemed, 

Success through life, his schemes attended : 
He lived by all the world esteemed, 

And died by all the good commended. 

We knew each other in our youth, 

And in our secret thoughts confided ; 

I never knew him lost to truth. 
Nor b}'' an evil motive guided. 



Platte City Cemetery. 439 

So to his name let incense rise, — 

Let memory's vestal lamp be burning; 

And let his children highly prize, 

The name he labored long in earning. 



^'o.. 17. 
GEORGE KAY. 



Died Aaguat -10^ 1866, Aged 75 Years. 



Here rests an aged man of God, 
That in the path of virtue trod ; 
Who shared the blessings of the meek, 
And loved his Savior's praise to speak.. 

A patriot warrior in his youth. 
In age, a soldier of the truth ! 
And as a veteran of the cross, 
He counted all things else but loss. 

We venerate the time-worn saint, 
And love him though his liml)s are faint. 
A tear for him don't indicate distress, 
Hut hope and inward joy express. 

When tears no more this sod shall lave, 
The weeping clouds shall bathe his grave. 
Till, from his dust, the saint shall rise, 
To meet his Savior in the skies. 



440 Platte City Cemetery. 

No. IS. 
MISS DAVIDELLA MARTIX, 



Dkd Januanj '■>, isi;s, Ayed I'l Fcacs, 



Death often comes when least expected, — 
And youth and beauty cannot save. 

The fairest sometimes are selected, 

To show how ruthless is the grave. 

Her brilliant mind and maiden beauty, — 
Her spirit, modest, true and coy, — 

Her steadfast faith and sense of duty, 
Made life an episode of joy. 

Her memory haunts me as a vision 
Of heavenly purit}'^ and love; 

Her life, I think, was but a mission, 
To sweetly draw our hearts above. 

The joys of Heaven appear more thrilling, 
As all the pure are gathered there ; 

And yearly I become more willing 

To die, that I their bliss mav share. 



Pr.ATTE City Cemetekv. 441 

Xo. HI. 
AMANDA, WIFE OF JAMES L. MOORE. 



Died October 7, 1S7!), Aged ■'><> years. 



The shaft that stands beside this knoll, 

Though fiiultless and as Avhite as snow. 

Is not more pure than was the soul, 
Of her whose body sleeps below. 

Her cheering words and winning smile 
Were balsam to the sons of grief; 

Her sympathy was free from guile, 

And brought the suffering one relief. 

From infancy she put her trust 

In Him who is the light and way, — 

And trod the pathway of the just, 

That brighter grew to perfect day. 

Her lessons and her yearning prayers 
Will urge her sons to useful deeds, — 

Will guard their feet from earthly snares. 
And cheer them on where duty leads. 



442 Platte City Cemetery 

No. iO. 
MOSEBY N. OWEN. 



Died July 4, 1860^ Aged J" Years. 



An honest man lies 'neath this sod, — 

My genial friend and elder br9ther ; 
We knelt together serving God, — 

With mingling souls we loved each other. 
His generous heart and open hand. 

In hospitality abounded ; 
His style was affable and bland, 

And faithful friends his board surrounded. 

Two generations since, his name 

With love and honor was repeated, 
And when to ask for votes he came. 

With pride and rapture he was greeted. 
To every place that he aspired, 

He was triumphantly elected. 
And then to private life retired, 

To be still loved and still respected. 

When well advanced in age, he bowed 
Before the new-found Savior's altar; 

And from the day he knelt and vowed, 
He did not in his duties falter. 



Platte City Cemetery. 443 

And when he passed the vale of death, 
In holy triumph, I was near him,— 

And as he spoke with dying breath, 

1 meekly bowed my head to hear him. 

Thou sainted spirit of my friend, 

The secret things of heaven unfold us; 
And down to earth some angel send 

And let tliese mysteries be told us ; 
That we may know the future state, 

And truth may all our terrors banish ; 
And while we for the summons wait. 

Anxiety and doubt may vanish. 



No. .'I. 
REBECCA, WIFE OF C. C. REDMAN. 



Dieil October /% /sV/, Afjtd ■">' Years. 



Her husband, sons and daughters dwell 
In California's golden dales ; 

But she'll be loved q,nd honored well, 
Till memorv's marble tablet fails. 



444 Platte City Cemetery. 

And year by year some loving hand 

Festoons these vines and plants a llower; 

And when the buds and leaves expand, 
This grave becomes a sacred bower. 

From hymen's altar to the grave, 
I loved her as a fiiithful friend ; 

In Christian duty she was brave, 

And grew in faith until her end. 

No ruby was so rich a prize ; 

Her husband's heart in her could trust; 
Her faithful children all arise, 

To bless the memory of the just. 



No. .'.'. 
WM. C. REMINGTON. 



Died Deconber '<', isn.j, J(/fd 4'> Y(ar>t. 



In ante-bellum times, no man 

Was better known nor more respected ; 
And when he for an office ran, 

He never failed to be elected. 



Pi.AiTE City Cemeikkv. 445 

A genial comrade was his role, 
^ And festive was his disposition ; 
And with a kind, all-loving soul, 

To make ns happy was his mission. 

In war he suffered grevious- wrong, 

And lost the home he so much cherished ; 

But life did not his cares prolong, , * 

For soon, alas! the wanderer perished. 

But here he found a hallowed grave ; 

Beneath this stone his dust reposes; 
And friends, with tears, this hillock lave, 

And wreathe his tomb with fragrant roses. 



No. 23. 
KATE, WIFE OF E. 0. SAYLE. 



Died July ,?2, ISOJ, Aijed 27 Years. 



When parents died and left the child, 
No loving hand caressed her, 

Until my wife upon her smiled, 
And to her bosom pressed her. 



446 Platte City Cemetery. 

No wild exotic plant she grew, — 
But proved a faithful daughter ; 

Until a lover, good and true. 
In holy wedlock sought her. 

Few were her years of married life, 
But sweet as fragrant flowers ; 

And clearly proved, an orphan wife 
Makes home like Eden's bowers. 

She named her only son for me, — 
Thus gratitude bestowing ; 

And now that she is gone, I see 
The debt of love I'm owing. 



DR. N. M. SHROCK. 



Dii'd March 2J,, lSrr:i, Aged 4~ Fears-. 



You see upon this marble shaft. 
Masonic emblems traced, 

And know that by the mystic craft, 
This ancient stone was placed. 



Platte City Ckmetehy. 447 

He made the lodge a moral school, 

xVnd taught Masonic art ; — 
AVith square and compass, — line and rule, 

He drew the craftsman's chart. 

This marble column was the first 

Erected on this ground ; 
But now behold the shafts dispersed, 

By hundreds all around. 

Though more than thirty years have passed, 

Since he was here interred; 
No stain upon his name is cast, 

But praise is often heard. 



No. So. 
CHRISTOPHER A. SKILLMAN 



Diid All;/. 14, /.W';, Aged !■> Yearn. 



Here lies a worthy man, who from his youth, 
Was loved and praised wherever known ; 

In honesty and sacred love of truth. 
He stood unequalled and alone ; 



448 Platte City Cemetery. 

A perfect gentleman of nature's guild, — 
His hand was cordial, free and true ; 

With kindl}^ sentiments his heart was filled, 
And every word Avas pure as dew. 

His home was hospitalit3''s retreat, 

And " Welcome " on his gate was scored ; 
His friends and relatives would often meet, 

And hold reunion round his board. 
But warned by age that he must soon depart,. 

From active life he turned aside ; 
And having yielded unto God his heart. 

He humbly bowed his head and died. 



So. ;.'(■. 



JOHN SWANEY 



Dinl Mareli I.',, isr,:^ Aufl ■'>■! Yrar^ 



Weep not for a life of trial. — 

Wrong and insolence endure; 

But with pain and self-denial. 

Keep the heart and conscience pure. 



Platte City Cemetkky. 449 

Thus my brother bore his trouble, 

When financial shipwreck came ; . 
He was true, although the bubble 

lUirst, in wrath, upon his name. 

Active, bold and self-reliant, — 

Full of energy and zeal, — 
And to dreamy hope compliant. 

He was crushed by fortune's wheel. 
Body worn and spirit broken, 

Soon the grave received his clay : 
But no charge was ever spoken. 

And his memory's pure to-day. 



Ko. .'7. 
JOHN R. SWAIN. 



Dinl Octohi-r ,??, JSS.?, Aged <j.' Yran^. 



A weary soul has found release, — 
Another friend is gathered home 

He's found eternal joy and peace. 
But 1 am left in tears to roam. 



450 Pi.ATTE City Cemeteky. 

Of all the friends of years long past, 

Who met in prayer around the throne,, 

He was the dearest and the last ; — 
For all have gone and I'm alone. 

His meek and loving spirit swayed, 

And cheered me on to useful deeds, — 
Or led me back whene'er I strayed, 

As gently as a shepherd leads. 
And when discouragements assailed, 

And I grew faint before our foes, 
His patient spirit never quailed. 

But gathered strength as trials rose. 

His fciith in God and in his word. 

Was wondrous strong and full and clear 
And from his lips was never heard, 

A lingering doubt or galling fear. 
His heart sent forth unceasing psalms. 

In which his love and joy were told ; 
His mission was to feed the lambs. 

And lead them to the Savior's fold. 

"God bless the children," was his prayer : 

To give them joy was his delight; 
To train them was his constant care, 

In paths of wisdom, truth and right. 
His Church and Sabbath School were themes^ 

That occupied his daily thought : 
And freely he sustained all schemes, 

By which beneficence was wrought. 



Platte City Cemeteky. 451 

We brought his cold remains to-day, 

And placed them at God's holy fane, 
That all might look upon the clay, 

We shall not see on earth again. 
The wreath of roses on his breast, 

The solemn drapery on the wall, 
The sighs, and tears, and groans attest 

The love and sorrow borne by all. 

The children came to bid farewell, 

And look the last time on the dead. 
With sighs their youthful bosoms swell. 

And tears of love are softly shed. 
They'll bear his memory till they die ; 

They'll join him in the upper sphere; 
And dwell with him in bliss on high, 

When all shall be forgotten here. 

Farewell, dear friend,— thy race is run; 

Thy course on earth is ended now ; 
The goal is reached — the crown is won, — 

And rests upon thy raptured brow. 
Thy place is near the great white throne ; 

Thy study is redemption's plan ; 
And mysteries to you are knoAvn, 

Which, from the first, were hid from man. 



452 Pl'^tte Cri'v Ce.m ■.tei;v. 

N 0. ;?.s'. 
LITTLE JULIA TEBBS. 



Died July I.', ISJ-J, Aged Jo Months. 



My sweet grand-daughter, let me kneel 

Beside the stone that stands above thee, 

And show 1)y tears how much I feel, 

And prove by sighs how much I love thee 

I've not forgotten tl\v sweet wavs, 

But well rememl^er yet, thy prattle ; 

I weep Avhen on thy frock I gaze, 

Or touch th}" little shoes or rattle. 

The hope of heaven has greater charms, 
Since in the upper fold I'll find thee; 

For there I'll take thee to my arms. 

And on my heart of hearts will l)ind thee. 

I can't conceive that thou art dead, 

But only gone to heaven before ine ; 

And when the day of life is sped, 

The Lord, my darling, will restore me. 



Platte City Cemetery. 453 

JVo. 20. 

DR. JOSEPH WALKEPv. 



Killed August .'S, i<V'>'^, Aged-'>1 Years. 



When wrath had asked for blood, 

And war had license spoken, 
The silver cord was cut, 

The golden bowl was broken. 
On him the vengeance fell, 

For other heads intended ; — 
As oft occurs in war, 

When wrong with right is blended. 

Of noble heart and mind, — 

Of finished education ; 
An army surgeon trained, 

For years he served the nation : 
But in the cause of peace, 

Upon a farm retired, 
And in his country home, 

Was trusted and admired. 

His lofty intellect, — 

His proud and nol)le bearing : — 
His scientific lore, 

Self confidence and daring, 

— 2i) — 



454 Platte City Cemktery. 

Commanded higli regard, 

From thousands living near him. 

And caused his friends to love, — 
And enemies to fear him. 

'Tvvas during cruel war, 

That goaded men to madness, 
His tragic death occurred, 

And filled all hearts with sadness : 
And though an age has passed, 

I can't my f'jars dissemble; — 
For when I tell the tale. 

My lips with feeling tremble. 




